Thanks for the Pranks
by Car
Summary: Due to the overwhelming maturity of both nations, America and England find themselves in a different kind of war than they are used to...A prank war! Who will get the last laugh? "Mark my words, old man, this is war." "Bring it on, brat. Bring it on."
1. 1, 2, 3, 4

**Prologue**

* * *

"This'll teach ol' eyebrows a thing or two!" America cackled to himself as he put the finishing touches on his masterpiece.

So it wasn't exactly his _proudest_ moment ever.

Canada's eyes darted left and right suspiciously as he let out a nervous breath. "It really wasn't that big of a deal…" he mumbled, not even sure why or how he got dragged into this situation in the first place. "I think you're taking this a little too far…"

America scoffed; stepping down from the ladder and tossing his brother the now empty can of spray-paint. "No Mattie. England is the one who took things too far." With a grin, he stepped back and admired his handwork. "Not bad if I do say so myself. What do you think?"

Canada sighed, cuddling Kumajiro closer to his chest. "I think England is going to kill you."

"I'd like to see him try!" He laughed, gathering his things into his backpack and zipping it shut. "Next time he'll think twice about re-naming my buildings."

Canada blinked in surprise. "Is that what this is all about? You're still upset about that? It's been over a year…"

"Yes I'm still upset!" America exclaimed. "You can't just re-name the Sears Tower! It's the _Sears Tower!"_

"It's Willis Tower now, actually."

America glared, shoving the heavy backpack into Canada's arms. "I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say that."

Canada sighed struggling to adjust the bag onto his back. "It's not like he did it behind your back or anything…he must have gotten your permission somehow."

"I had to be drunk or something. I would never _ever_ give him permission to re-name my Sears Tower if I was sober."

Canada sighed and diligently followed behind his brother quietly as they left the scene of the crime. With a groan, he straightened the heavy backpack on his shoulders, noting to himself that the immensely stronger America carried nothing but the clothes on his back. "Was it really necessary for me to come along? You could have handled this fine on your own…"

"Needed a lookout," he replied simply.

With a little stumble over the weight of the pack, Canada rolled his eyes. "Of course you did." He looked down at Kumajiro and sighed, defeated. "How do I always get myself in these messes, Kumojumbo?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Canada."

* * *

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

"Bloody alarm…"

England grumbled, turning himself over and rather unceremoniously smacking his alarm around until it finally shut the fuck up.

Without opening his eyes, he mechanically wrapped himself in his robe, slipped on his slippers and stumbled down the stairs to the kitchen where he placed his favorite old teakettle on the stove.

Like clockwork, his paper was delivered at the exact time he stepped outside to retrieve it and with a small smile and wave to his paperboy, he picked up the paper and staggered back to the kitchen to retrieve his morning tea. Once everything was in order, England made himself comfortable at his kitchen table. He took a small sip of tea, opening his paper and-

…Promptly spit it out again.

"_WHAT THE FUCK?!"_

Glaring back at him, in all its printed, and now slightly damp with tea, glory was his very own Big Ben.

And it had a gigantic penis spray painted on the side of it.

Under the crude phallic design in barely legible print, were the words "Don't be so cocky, England! My 'Willy' is bigger!"

England was out his door as fast as his slippered feet would carry him. Proper attire _be_ _damned._

He was going to _kill _America.

* * *

**On March 12, 2009, it was announced that Willis Group Holdings, a London-based insurance broker, would be changing the name of Chicago's _Sears Tower _to _Willis Tower. _**Why yes, I am from Chicago and why yes, I was quite pissed. XD

* * *

Well there you have the prologue! Don't worry, this will be as short as the chapters get, I promise. I just had to kick this off in a fun exciting way! You heard that right, CHAPTERS! I'm doing Something multi-chaptered! _Holy shit!_

...Okay, so I need your help. I have this nasty little habit of not finishing multi-chaptered things. I posted this for that exact reason, so that I can get encouragement. SO! Review and such and you'll be a big help! Let me know what you think!


	2. I Declare a Prank War

England fancied himself a classy gent.

While his immediate thoughts upon fleeing from his house in his bathrobe and slippers had been the various ways that he could torture and/or terminate America, after a few blocks, he began to calm a bit.

America would pay for this, that was clear enough, but the question was _how_ to make him pay.

_Anyone_ could deface a national symbol. He had to hit America where it _hurt_.

And lucky for him, England had the exact resources it would take to do just that. All it took was a little trip on the tube (still in his robe and slippers, but damnit, this was a matter of national security), a brief discussion over tea and crumpets, and a couple of phone calls and it was all set.

Now all he had to do was wait, and if his calculations were correct, and they always were, his phone would be ringing in approximately three…two…

_God save our gracious Queen! Long live our noble Queen! God save the Queen! Send her victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us, God save the Queen._

_Brilliant._

England smirked and haughtily picked up his cell phone. "America" flashed on his caller ID, along with an absolutely ridiculous picture of said nation that America had taken on his phone and set as his ID, refusing to tell him how to change it.

England made a note to ask Japan to get that bloody thing off his phone at the next G8 meeting.

"Hullo. Arthur Kirkland speaking."

"_YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"_

Ah, sweet music to his ears.

"Oh, America," England replied coolly. "What a surprise. What brings forth this pleasure?"

"You know _damn well_, you asshole!"

If he didn't know any better, England could almost hear the young nation choke back a sob.

"I certainly don't know what you are going on abou-"

"Don't you _dare_ play dumb with me! Okay, yeah, the Big Ben thing was a little immature of me. I get it. But_ this_." America paused pointed dramatically at the Yahoo! news page in front of him on his laptop, not caring one damn bit England couldn't see it. "_This _is going way too far."

England crossed his arms and stuck his nose in the air. "Maybe you should have thought about that before pulling that little stunt of yours."

"Oh come on! It's not that big of a deal!"

"You drew a penis on the Westminster clock tower!"

"You _banned_ _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ from being shown in America!"

England smirked and took a delicate sip of his tea. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll come up with some masterpiece blockbuster to keep you entertained in it's absence."

America's eyes narrowed. Ten years. He had waited ten _fucking_ years for these movies. Even longer if you counted from when he had starting reading the books! Hell, America didn't even like books until Harry came along! Not that he would admit that to England, of course. But now, all because England had gotten his little panties in a bunch, that was going to be taken away from him?

There was no way in _Hell_ he was going to let that happen without a fight.

"I'm going to get you back for this, old man. Mark my words, this is _war_."

England furrowed his brow, narrowing his eyes into a stern and determined glare. "Bring it on, brat. Bring it on."

* * *

Three days had passed since war had been declared, and England was beginning to wonder if America had forgotten the whole ordeal altogether. Neither hide nor hair of the younger nation had been seen since that fateful morning, and England was starting to get a little restless.

Not that he was frightened of the little crotch stain or anything.

He was just…anxious. Yes, anxious.

It wasn't like the little twat to not just jump right in and attack, which made him wonder if he had forgotten the threat or if he was, god forbid, thinking something out.

England shuttered at the thought.

The most logical explanation was that he had simply forgotten, which was perfectly fine for him. The last thing he wanted was for America to go and vandalize more of his precious property.

So why the _hell _was he disappointed America wasn't vandalizing more of his precious property?

"It is because you seek his attention, _mon cher_." France leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and shrugging easily.

"I bloody well do not."

France chuckled. "_L'amour_ will make you do crazy things _mon ami_. You may not want to admit that you pine for young _Amérique's _attention, but it is as clear as the eyebrows on your face."

England scowled, both at the French bastard, and at the blush that was creeping onto his cheeks and betraying him at a time like this.

"Is there some reason why you felt the need to ruin my day so early in the morning, frog, or are you just here to piss me off?" England grumbled, trying to change the subject.

Thankfully, France had taken the bait, sitting up excitedly with a clap of his hands. "Ah! _Oui, oui_! I am here on behalf of _cher_ Canada."

"Canada?"

"Oui! He asked me to give you this." France reached into his coat pocket and took out a small piece of crumpled paper, handing it to England.

England blinked in surprise and took the note. "What is this?"

France shrugged. "I do not ask, _cher Angleterre_, I am merely the messenger."

"You touched him inappropriately before he could tell you and America kicked you out, didn't he?"

France pouted. "_Oui_…" His frown quickly melted into a dreamy expression as he held his chin pensively. "But it was _très bon_…"

"Perverted wanker." England rolled his eyes and carefully opened the note to reveal Canada's neat handwriting, which seamed a bit messier and more rushed than usual. "Dear England," he read. "America doesn't know that I'm writing this so I have to make it quick. I thought you would appreciate a little warning for what you are about to see. You may want to turn on the news. Sorry my brother is such a moron. Canada. What the hell?"

France was already flipping through the channels by the time England had finished the note, coming to a stop in the middle of a story on BBC.

"_-still under investigation. We take you now to Felton Maxwell on the scene. Felton?"_

"_Thanks Emily. I am here with local farmer Read Grant. Mr. Grant, your field was one of the ones affected, correct?"_

"_Yes sir. I woke up this morning and there it was, big as day. A crop circle right in the middle of my wheat field."_

England's eyes widened. "Crop circle?"

"_What really confused me about the crop circle was the design." _Read continued,_ "I always remember hearing about crop circles being circular designs like spirographs, but this one was a bloody American flag!"_

"A-American…flag?"

"_Thank you Felton. So far, there have been over sixty-seven crop circles known and more are being reported by the hour, all bearing a resemblance to the flag of the United States of America. Police are unsure at this time what has caused this phenomenon across the United Kingdom, but an investigation is said to be underway."_

France gaffed with laughter as he flipped off the TV. "Ah! Bravo, _Amérique! Très bon! _He is quite the creative one, _non, Angleterre_?"

But England wasn't listening. Without a word, he spun on his heels and marched out of the room, his face burning with anger.

"_Angleterre?" _France asked, following behind him cautiously.

England stopped at the end of the hallway and threw open an old wooden door. He ripped a black clock from a peg just in the stairway, and pulled a lantern from a hook. His eyes darkened as he tromped down into the dungeon.

"_Angleterre?" _France asked again, his eyes uncertainly peering into the darkness while staying comfortably close to the doorframe. "What is it you are doing?"

England smirked menacingly. "If that git is going to recruit his bloody alien in this fight, I see no reason not to include some friends of my own."

* * *

**This was going to be a bit longer, but it's April Fools Day! You can't have a story about pranks not updated on April Fools Day!! Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm going to try to write as much as I can over Easter break, because from now until the end of the school year is going to be ridiculous. **

**Oh, and I know the French is probably all wrong, but just ignore that. :P**

**Hope you enjoyed and don't forget to review!**


	3. 5, 6, 7, 8

"I…He…How...?"

"Wow…I wonder how England managed to pull that off?"

"He…My…"

Canada stole a careful glance at the flabbergasted nation to his left and bit his lip. Hugging Kumajiro to his chest, he whispered softly, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. "America? You okay?"

"How…?"

"Al…?"

America rubbed his eyes, his glasses lifting to his forehead and falling back down, slightly askew. Blinking a couple of times for good measure, he pointed a shaky finger at the screen in front of him.

"How the_ fuck_ did he do that?!"

Paused on the 75-inch plasma screen thanks to the magic of TiVo, the great American national landmark of Mount Rushmore proudly stood in all its glory. Well…kind of. For where the stoic busts of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Theodore Roosevelt and Abraham Lincoln once stood, there was now an entirely different set of people.

William Shakespeare, Winston Churchill, Queen Victoria, and Hugh Grant to be exact.

Okay, he got the other three, but Hugh Grant?

Canada unpaused the TiVo and the confused tourists in South Dakota came to life. Uncertain whispers and scratched heads spread through the crowd like wildfire as various park rangers inspected the new change in scenery to no avail. America's mouth hung slightly agape as he stared, his crooked glasses contributing to his altogether frazzled appearance.

Suddenly, the national anthem played from his back pocket, causing the nations to jump. He glanced nervously at the caller ID, and letting out an uneasy groan, flipped open the phone and held it to his ear.

"H-hello?"

"_Alfred_."

He bit his lip awkwardly and shot Canada a look, who mouthed 'who is it?' in return. "Boss!" He cried. "Hey- Uh… What's up?" Canada immediately winced.

"My office," the president grumbled roughly. "_Now_."

_Click._

America flipped his phone shut and hit his head against the wall. Hard.

"So…" Canada smiled weakly. "He's unhappy?"

"I'm _dead._"

* * *

America's hand hovered over the dark wood of the oval office door for a few moments before finally taking a deep breath and giving it three sturdy knocks.

He was going to take this like a _man_, damnit.

"Come in, Alfred."

Ever so slowly, he pushed the door open and poked his head inside.

"Sit."

"Yes sir."

So maybe he was taking it more like a teenager.

…Okay, adolescent, jeez.

To his surprise, it wasn't just him and his boss in the large office. England's Prime Minister stood next to the president in front of the desk, both men holding matching scowls on their faces. Two hard wooden chairs sat in the middle of the room, one being occupied by a haughty looking England, and the other, he assumed, was meant for himself.

"What is _he_ doing here?" America asked angrily, plunking himself down into the empty chair and crossing his arms over his chest with a huff.

England crossed his own arms and turned up his nose in annoyance. "What do you think I'm doing here, prat? My boss forced me to come." He scoffed. "Like I would voluntary come to this godforsaken place on my own. I can feel myself becoming obese just by breathing all the grease the air."

"Oh, sorry. I just assumed that with the green movement and everything, we were _limiting_ the amount of trash in the country. My mistake."

"Why you little-!"

"Okay that is enough out of both of you." The President scolded, quickly putting a stop to the two bickering nations, who turned away from each other once again with a dignified _humph_. "I honestly don't know what's going on here, but it's time to put a stop to it."

"England started it." America mumbled.

"I did no such thing you bloody tosser!" England exclaimed, clenching his fists at his side

"Bullshit! You fucking ruined Mount Rushmore!"

"That was not me, that was the fairies. And it was because you imprinted your blasted flag in half of my wheat fields!"

"That was Tony! And that was only because you _banned _the Harry Potter movies!"

"Which I did because you _drew a male reproductive organ_ on Big Ben!"

"Which _I_ did because _you_ renamed _my_ Sears Tower!"

"Enough!" The Prime Minister exclaimed. With a tired sigh, he leaned against the desk, rubbing his temples and counting to ten in his head. "We don't care who started it. What we care about is the mutual vandalism that is perspiring between our two nations, and we care about it being put to an end once and for all."

The President nodded. "We can't stop…whatever is going on here. We can't control what you do. But for the love of God, keep it between yourselves."

"This is between you, Arthur, and you, Alfred." The Prime Minister continued calmly. "Not between the United Kingdom and United States."

"That's right," the President agreed. "You both can go and kill each other for all we care, but leave the rest of the country_ out of it_."

America and England knew enough to at least act ashamed, though whether the downcast eyes and fiddled thumbs were truly legit was up for debate.

"Have we made ourselves quite clear?" The Prime Minister asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"Yes sir. Quite clear."

"Yeah, I guess."

The President nodded, clapping his hands together once and standing straight once again. "Good. Now, there is the business of Mount Rushmore being put back to normal?" He smiled hopefully at the Prime Minister who sent England an expectant glance.

"Arthur? I anticipate you'll be fixing that straight away?"

"Yes sir, I'll get the fairies right on- And what the fuck do you think you're bloody laughing at, you git?!"

America slapped a hand over his mouth to suppress his giggles, failing miserably to hide anything in the process. "Nothing!" He squeaked, shaking his head wildly from side to side.

"Gentlemen," The President grumbled warningly, causing the nations to snap apart quickly. He sighed tiredly. "Thank you Arthur, that would be fantastic. And now that _that_ is all cleared up, the Prime Minister and I have some _real_ business to discuss. You both are free to go."

Both nations nodded politely and exited the room, allowing their bosses to sigh in relief when the door was closed behind them.

"You know," the President said thoughtfully, wearily falling into his plush office chair. "There's a reason they don't tell you about those guys before you take office."

The Prime Minister laughed, pulling a seat up to the desk for himself. "It would certainly make elections more interesting. Two people fighting over who would have to deal with the idiotic personifications!"

"That reminds me…What was it Arthur was saying about…fairies?"

"He uh… He has this little posse of…uh…mystical creatures and- you know what, let's just look at those documents I spoke to you about."

* * *

"Iggy! Hey! Wait up!"

England groaned, removing his hand from his and his boss's limousine's door. He was so close, too. "What do you want?"

America jogged up to him grinning widely. "I just wanted to know what you have planned for the rest of the night is all!"

"And why the hell would you want to know that?"

The younger nation rolled his eyes. "Always so defensive about everything. Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to get something to eat while our bosses save the world, but if you're going to be all grumpy about it, then maybe I'll just go on my own."

Did America just ask him out to dinner?

England's heart sped ever so slightly, and he felt his cheeks flush. No. This was a trick, that's what it was. It wouldn't even be dinner; it was like, four in the afternoon. And even if it was dinner! It wasn't like it was a…_date _or something. Nope.

Quickly, he covered his rosy cheeks with a scowl and reached once again to get into his vehicle. "Why would I go out to eat with you? Or have you forgotten the fact that we have done nothing but fight and vandalize each other's houses for the past week?"

"Well, let's think about it. "America leaned casually against the door of the limo, successfully blocking England's escape and causing him to scowl. "If we are out together, you can keep an eye on me. I can't do anything under your watchful gaze, now can I?" He grinned. "It's when I'm wondering around unsupervised that you have to worry."

England grumbled to himself. Damnit, the twat was right. Well, who was he to pass up a free meal, right? (And a free meal with _America_, something in his brain reminded him mockingly. He promptly ignored that.) "I might as well. You won't bloody leave me alone unless I do, in any matter." American nodded, grinning. "But _you_ will be paying and we will not be going to McDonalds."

"Deal!" America grinned, grabbing England's hand and happily speeding down the street. "I know exactly where to go!"

* * *

So TGI Friday's wasn't exactly the most romantic of places. But despite fearing the canoe that was hanging on the wall above his head was going to fall and crush him, they _were_ sitting down in a real booth, looking at real menus, and a real waitress was bringing them real food. England could forgive the atrocious décor for now, he supposed.

Their pretty brunette waitress suddenly appeared at the head of the booth with a wide smile and an empty tray in her arms. "Can I get you boys a re-fill on your drinks?"

"Yeah, that would be awesome, thanks!" America beamed, winking at the young women, sending her off blushing and giggling. England rolled his eyes, swallowing that feeling that was most definitely not jealousy down his throat. "She's cute, huh?"

"Adorable," England grumbled, giving the girl a half-hearted, irritable smile as she returned with his tea and America's coke.

She giggled about something or other, causing England to roll his eyes once again. Really. The git hadn't even done anything cute. He would know. "Your meals should be done in a few minutes, okay? Oh, and sir?" She managed to peel her eyes away from America to look at him. "Did you want your peppers and onions on a separate platter, or included with the chicken?"

"With the chicken is fine, thank you." England replied simply, blinking in confusion and raising his eyebrows as the girl began giggling once again.

"I'm sorry, I just adore your accent!" She beamed, spinning on her heels and skipping back to the kitchen.

America smirked at her retreating figure, noticeably amused. "Dude, she totally likes you."

"Bullocks."

"No seriously! She was totally digging your charismatic British charms!"

England chuckled in amusement, taking a small sip of his tea. "Please. 'British charms?'"

"Yeah." America shrugged. "That whole James Bond thing you got going on. It's charming."

Charming? America thought he was _charming_? A small smile snuck to his lips to match his pink dusted cheeks. Thankfully their food arrived at that moment and America was far too distracted by his bacon cheeseburger to notice. England smiled softly, cutting delicately into his meal.

* * *

"So, what brought on this sudden invitation, anyway?"

"What? A guy can't treat his old mentor to a nice dinner?"

"No." England replied simply, popping a lone shrimp into his mouth. "Especially in the middle of hostile warfare."

America grinned, taking a large bite, and much to England's disgust, continued speaking. "Let's just call this a temporary ceasefire." He swallowed hard and gently placed his burger back on his plate. "Hey, I'll be right back, okay Iggs? Gotta run to the crapper."

England made a face. "Lovely."

America beamed, standing from the booth and flashing the other man an enthusiastic thumbs up. "Don't miss me too much!"

"I'll try to hold back my tears."

With a smirk, America made his way to the bathrooms until he was positive he was no longer in England's line of sight. With one last glance over his shoulder, he made a quick right, ducking behind the restaurant's cash register where their waitress was tapping away at the computer.

"Hey!" He called, lightly tapping her on the shoulder.

She jumped slightly, but grinned when she saw who it was. "Oh! Hi! Can I help you with something?"

America nodded, gesturing his head toward his table. "He didn't want me to say anything, but it's actually my buddy's birthday today,"

"Really?" The girl asked. America nodded.

"He always says he doesn't like it when I make a big deal out of things, but I know deep down he loves all the attention," America lied. He knew for a _fact_ that the only thing England hated more than attention was attention in an embarrassing way. "So, I was wondering, if it wouldn't be too much trouble…"

The girl waved him off. "Oh, no trouble at all! Leave it all to me!"

"Great, thanks so much!" Pleased with himself, America made his way back to his table to prepare for the show.

* * *

The nations were just finishing up their meals when the parade of employees exited in the kitchen. Wearing party hats, clapping their hands and toting around a large ice cream sundae with a sparkler sticking out of the top near the cherry, they made their way through the tables, as other diners smiled and clapped along, following the group with their eyes.

England shook his head. "I always feel so sorry for the poor sap that gets publicly humiliated when restaurants do this."

"Yeah, me too." America nodded, trying his hardest to suppress his laughter. "Oh look, they're heading this way!"

England's eyes widened, realization hitting him that he and America were, indeed, the only people in that particular area.

The cluster of employees surrounded their booth, grinning as they placed the sundae in front of England and placed a ridiculous party hat atop his head. America finally released his laughter when the handfuls of confetti were thrown into England's face, guffawing loudly and joining in on the clapping.

"I am going to fucking _kill_ you."

"_I don't know what I've been told!"_ The employees started singing loudly.

"_I don't know what I've been told!_

"_Someone here is getting old!_

"_Someone here is getting old!_

"_Sound off!"_

"_Happy!_

"_Sound off!_

"_Birthday!_

"_Sound off!_

"_Happy Birthday from all of us at Friday's!!"_

The room erupted into applause as the employees made their way back to the kitchen; England's glare never wavering from his cackling American acquaintance, who at that moment, was just beginning to calm down and grin at him.

"Aw come on, free ice cream!" America snickered, reaching over the table for a spoonful.

England glared and pulled his dessert away from America's grabbing hands, scooping up a spoonful for himself. "I would watch your back, wanker. Ice cream or not, I'm going to make you pay for this."

"I expected nothing less." America smirked, managing to steal the tiniest spoonful of whip cream and shooting England a cocky wink. "Temporary ceasefire officially suspended."

* * *

**There we have it! I had a lot of fun with this chapter. I almost didn't put the dinner scene in this one, but now I'm very glad I did!**

**SO The real fun is about to start! Ha ha! Now, I have a ton of ideas for pranks I want them to pull, but if any of you have any particularly good ones you wanna see these two pull on each other, let me know! It may be included! 'Till next time!**

**(Oh and PS, I really love TGIFriday's. Like, a lot. Ever try the brownie obsession? SO GOOD.)**


	4. Try to Keep your Sanity Straight

"No, I will not suck on your bloody fucking toe, you sodding perverted bastard!"

_Click._

Okay, this was getting bloody ridiculous.

For the past four days, England has been receiving similar phone calls from people requesting various and, more often than not, extremely improper and perverted sexual acts. As it turned out, America had posted his mobile number for the whole world to see in some rest room in New York City, advertised as something to call for "a jolly good time".

Of course, once he discovered where these strange phone calls were coming from, he took immediate action and hacked into America's Facebook account.

Okay, it wasn't really _hacking_; the git's password was '_hero'_ for crying out loud.

But in any matter, he had gone in and messed things around; made his profile picture that photo from the Christmas party he had sworn to America he had burnt, made his status "absolutely loves England's cooking!", became a fan of a plethora of pro-England pages, as well as other groups both sexual and embarrassing in nature; the like. And for good measure, he changed the tosser's password to "God save the Queen", just to solidify his hard work.

England smiled, knowing that America still hadn't been able to crack his new password. The other nations had left him plenty of comments, concerned and in some cases amused by his recent activity, and this filled him with _much_ happiness.

Happiness that was cut short by the blasted ringing of his phone once again, of course.

Seriously, where the hell was this damn bathroom, and why was everyone who went in it so damn horny?

"Listen here, you bloody tosser," England grumbled, answering his phone with a scowl. "At no point will I ever want to know what you are wearing, or will _ever_ tell you the same. I do not want a BJ, HJ, RJ, ZJ, LMNOPJ, or any _other_ kind of alphabetical J you can conjure up in your sick little mind. I do not own any bloody handcuffs or whips, and for the love of the Queen, I do not support the use of marshmallow fluff being used in an impure way, no matter how fucking delicious it is. _Is all of that bloody fucking clear?!"_

Save for the heavy breathing of the angry Brit, the conversation stayed silent for a few blessed moments before haughty laughter seeped in from the other side of the line.

"_Sacrebleu, cher Angleterre! _I was not calling for this reason, but now I am _très _curious! Tell me, what is this _LMNOPJ_?"

England paled. Oh piss. "What the hell do you want, frog?"

More laughter. "Well, now I am not so sure, _mon cher_! What would you suggest? The handcuffs or the marshmallow fluff?"

"Sod off."

"You want both, then?"

"Shut the hell up!" England growled into the phone. "What _the hell_ do you want?"

England could almost hear France smiling on the other end. "Are you sure you want to talk over the telephone? You sound like you are waiting for a _très _important call…"

"I swear to god, you fucking frog-" Walking past him on the sidewalk, a mother glared and covered her child's ears; England sent back an apologetic shrug.

"I joke, _Angleterre! Détendre, _relax!" He laughed once more as England steamed. "In all seriousness, I was just calling to see if you got that e-mail from _cher Canada_."

England blinked. "What e-mail?"

France paused for a beat, as if considering his next words carefully. "The e-mail about the G8 meeting next week," he explained carefully. "About the sleeping arrangements."

"...Sleeping arrangements?"

"_Oui._ There has been a change in the plans. Evidently all nations must room with another for the week. Apparently, half of the hotel has been booked by a maple syrup club, and you know how _cher Canada_ is about his syrup, so he could not tell them _non_."

England felt himself pale. They had to share rooms?! "Who is everyone sharing with?!" He asked, trying not to sound nearly as frantic as he felt. With fumbling hands, he pulled his BlackBerry from his back pocket and opened his e-mail.

"He has asked for everyone to e-mail him back with a recommendation of who they would like to share with."

As England's eyes flew through the e-mail, solidifying France's words, causing them to widen in horror. "If you dare put me down, you pervert, I swear I will-"

"_Non, non, non_, _Angleterre! _I have suggested for myself to room with _mon petit Italie!"_ His voice took on a disturbing, dreamy like tone, "_Cher Canada_ is rooming at his own _maison_, and I did not want to interrupt a week of_ l'amour_ between you and_ Amérique_, so I figured what do I have to lose? _Italie_ is so cute, _non_?!"

England rolled his eyes, his face flushing lightly. "First of all, Germany will never allow you room with Italy. And second of all, there is no blasted '_amour_' going on between America and I, quite the opposite, actually." England looked both ways, crossing the street.

"Oh? Is this the case?"

"Yes, it's the bloody case."

France made a small, smocking sound of confusion. "Then I wonder why it is that _petit Amérique_ had requested to room with you?"

…What?

"What?"

"_Oui,_ Canada has informed me of this."

England's mouth hung open. America wanted to be _his_ roommate? In the same second as it appeared, he quickly pushed back his mild excitement with the logical feeling of skepticism. "Well, of course he did," he explained, waving off the suggestion arrogantly. "If we room together, I make for an easier target. Simple as that."

"But that would place him as an easier target as well_, non?_"

Shit. "Well…Perhaps-"

"Perhaps nothing _mon cheri_! _Amérique _wishes to share a room with you for it is easier to woo you with sweet _l'amour_!"

England rolled his eyes. Honestly, this was getting ridiculous. "There is no bloody _amour_! I'm requesting Japan. He's relatively normal." He quickly typed his reply to Canada:

_Anyone but the frog or your bother. Preferably Japan. _

France tsked. "You will be breaking _Amérique's _heart_, mon cheri."_

"Boo fucking hoo. I am fairly positive he will survive." He checked his watch and picked up his pace to cross an intersection. "Now if you will excuse me, I have filled my daily quota of annoying Frenchman and I must be going."

"_Au revoir, Angleterre! _I will see you on Monday!I hope you will be able to sleep tonight knowing you have shattered a young man's affection!"

England hung up his phone without dignifying France a response and pocketed his Blackberry. Checking his watch once more, he quickly strode into the café where he was meeting his boss for tea to discuss the meeting on Monday.

* * *

Canada opened up his newest e-mail, nodded in understanding, and wrote down the names on his list of roommates for the week. This really was a lot more of a hassle then he really wanted to deal with.

What he did for his maple syrup.

"That from Iggy?" America asked, peaking his head over Canada's shoulder and spying at his brother's inbox.

"Yes, that one was from England. I think that's everyone."

America grinned slapping Canada on the back, who squeaked out a small, pained 'Maple!' in response. "Awesome! Give me and Iggy a ground floor room, okay? I think having easy access to the window could really come in handy."

Canada rolled his eyes. "You aren't rooming with him."

"What?" America asked, spinning around to face his brother in shock. "What do you mean I'm not rooming with him? I requested England! We're in the middle of a serious war, here!"

The younger nation winced slightly but held his ground as best as he could. "He requested Japan."

"So?! _I_ requested him!"

Canada sighed. "America, not only did he _not_ request you, he requested _not_ to be with you. I can't just put him with you because you want me to…"

"What?! Seriously?! Let me see that." A simple push sent Canada to the floor; America quick to take his place on the old, black desk chair. He quickly clicked through the e-mails, finding the one he was looking for, and gave it a quick scanning with his eyes. "Huh." He pouted.

"See?" Canada asked weakly, pulling himself up with the help of the desk. He yanked the list of roommates into his hands and shoved it into America's face. "This is the final list! I'm bringing it to my boss right now and there is nothing you can do to change it, so jus-"

"Hey, where'd your bear go?"

"Eh?"

America gestured to the now empty corner of the room where Kumajiro had been previously keeping himself entertained. "Your bear. Huh. He was right there a minute ago."

Canada's eyes widened. "Komajina!" With more speed than America thought the relaxed little Canadian could even conjure up in those weak little legs of his, Canada was out the door, frantically calling for his polar bear down the hallway.

Well, now that _that_ was out of the way.

America cracked his knuckles, delicately picking Canada's forgotten piece of parchment off the floor. With a raised eyebrow he read over the list to himself.

_Germany and Italy_

_England and Japan_

_America and France_

_Russia and… himself. Because he's creepy._

That little jerk stuck him with _France_?! What the hell?!

Oh, that list was definitely in need of some revisions. Whipping a ballpoint pen from his shirt pocket dramatically, he began to diligently re-write the list, _correctly_.

Once he was satisfied, he threw his old jacket over his shoulder and walked idly down the hallway, paper in hand. Walking diligently passed an open door, exposing Canada taking a beating from his boss's wife for letting his bear loose in the building, he knocked on a hard, red mahogany door.

Once granted permission, he poked his head into the Prime Minister's office. "Here is that list of roommates for this week's meeting, sir! Canada asked me to give it to you." He grinned mischievously. "I have a feeling this is going to be a magnificent, productive summit."

* * *

All England wanted was to get out of those stuffy clothes, throw on his cozy, striped pajamas, curl into the soft sheets of the hotel bed and fall into a deep slumber. He didn't care that he hadn't eaten a thing since lunch, he was tired, and after the flight to Canada that still took eight and a half hours even in his private jet, the only thing on his mind was checking in, and promptly checking out of consciousness.

He much preferred it when the G8 meetings took place in Europe. So much less traveling on his part.

Once he was checked in, he found his way up the elevator to the second floor, where room 237 and his cozy, warm bed would be waiting for him. He knew Japan was probably already settled in, having seen his car in the parking lot, so when the door to room 237 was slightly ajar, he didn't think anything of it.

"Hullo Japan." England smiled tiredly, pushing open the door. "I hope your flight was-"

_THUD. SPLASH. _

Very slowly, England removed the once full water bucket from atop his now extremely soggy head. Eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed, and knuckles white, he sent a tremendously furious scowl in the direction of the grinning American sitting lazily on the bed closest to the window in the cozy hotel room.

Said American waved pleasantly at the very irate Englishman, stretching his limbs over the comforter comfortably. "Hey there, roomie!"

"You've got to be bloody kidding me."

* * *

Despite his fatigue, England managed to stay awake well into the early hours of the morning waiting for that fucking git to fall asleep. Of course, the idiot had decided to watch one primetime drama, three late night talk shows, and God knows how many crime solving programs before finally deciding to call it a night, but England wouldn't think about that. He was asleep, and it was time for revenge.

Sneaking quietly from his bed, England grabbed his empty teacup from the bedside table and crept to the bathroom. Once it was filled almost to the brim with warm water, he made his way back to America's bedside, making sure not to spill.

Definitely not taking a few moments to admire the peaceful smile on the sleeping nation's handsome face, England delicately placed the fingers of one of America's sprawled out arms into the tepid cup sitting on the floor. America stirred slightly, but immediately snuggled back in to his pillow and was once again snoring softly.

Pleased with his work, England nodded in approval and crawled contently back under the covers of his own bed, smiling in satisfaction.

"_Sweet dreams_, wanker."

* * *

**There we have it! I had a hard time with this chapter for some reason. Probably because it's more of a set-up chapter, so there isn't much going on. Hope you still enjoyed it though! **

**Don't forget to suggest some of your favorite pranks! Have a great day and don't forget to review! **


	5. 9, 10, 11, 12

This was the _life._

America sighed contently as he floated lazily down some nameless, quiet mountain stream in Montana in a bright red inner tube. Or maybe it was Wyoming? Oh well, it really didn't matter; he was enjoying himself immensely.

As a bald eagle soared elegantly overhead, he dipped his fingertips in the unusually tepid mountain water, using his other hand to supply himself a taste from his cool, refreshing bottle of beer.

With a deep, soothing, breath he smiled happily to himself, basking in the warmth of the sun on his skin. Closing he eyes, he allowed himself to let go, relaxing into the water that slowly lapped at his shorts as he floated along.

With a blissful sigh, he-

Oh.

Oh no.

Blue eyes shot open in instantaneous horror.

He was dreaming. He had to have been dreaming. He had fallen asleep on the river. That was it. Any moment now, he was going to wake up back on his inner tube, completely sun burnt, hungry, thirsty, and about a mile past his get-out point.

Yeeep. Any minute now.

He pinched himself. "Ow!" Oh fuck, that actually hurt. Dreams aren't supposed to hurt.

With a gulp and a shaky hand, he fearfully pulled back his covers, wincing as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The mocking 3:23AM on the digital clock sitting peacefully on the bedside table gave him just enough light to allow him to see his worst nightmare become even worse reality.

He, the hero, the United fucking States of America, had _wet the fucking bed_.

"Okay, don't panic." He hissed to himself quietly, carefully pulling his legs out from under the covers. "You can do this, just get to the bathroom and don't. Wake. England."

The second his foot hit the floor; it collided with the clank of porcelain, and the spilling of now lukewarm water onto the hotel carpet. Wincing and Cursing, he picked up the offending object.

A teacup.

His eyes narrowed, gripping the small handle and shooting a murderous glare at the, he now noticed, smirking, sleeping nation across the room.

"_England."_

Once he was changed out of his dirty and, he shuddered, slightly _damp_, boxers, he returned from the bathroom with his tube of foot cream and an evil glint in his eye. Quietly, he tiptoed to the bed and filled the older nation's hand with the lotion, leaning over to tickle England's nose with a soft grazing of his fingers.

In response, England scrunched up his nose, furrowing his eyebrows. "Mmnf."

America bit his lip, cocking his head to the side in annoyance. He reached out and tickled his nose again.

"Mmmnf, 'merica… -ut it out. M' tired."

Okay, this was getting annoying. "Me too old man, so just itch your damn face already so I can go back to sleep," America mumbled, choosing this time to run his fingers along the nation's smooth cheeks and forehead, ignoring the light blush that came to his own as he did this.

"Mmm… 'merica…" England chuckled, a small smile creeping on to his lips. "Jus' kiss m' already…No more teasin'…git."

…Well.

_That_ was certainly unexpected.

America gulped, his face burning uncomfortably hot. He tickled England's nose once more hastily, thanking God he finally itched at it, smearing the foot cream all over his unsuspecting face.

Nodding in satisfaction, he carefully crawled into the other side of England's bed, making sure his back was firmly placed towards him. Promising himself he would write a very apologetic letter to the poor cleaning lady about the newly saturated sheets, he willed his eyes closed, pushing England's words out of his mind.

"It's your fault I'm sleeping here old man, so you better not get all pissy at me in the morning."

England smiled in his sleep, snuggling into his pillow.

* * *

"_England."_

England opened his eyes, bringing his hand to his forehead to shield them from the blinding light. Blinking a couple of times to adjust to his surroundings, he turned in a small circle, stopping once his eyes landed on a familiar figure smiling at him from across the small, quaint playground.

"America?"

"Hey there." His eyes glimmered in the setting sunlight, and with a gentle grin, he gestured toward an old swing set. "Have a seat."

England raised an eyebrow. "Why would I-"

America laughed, interrupting him and grasping his hand. "You can't just go along with me, can you? Come on, I'll push you."

"You will do no such thing you git! Let go of me this instant!"

America chuckled softly, pulling England gently into the swing from behind. Placing his hands on his shoulders, he positioned his head next to England's own and whispered breathily into his ear. "Just relax. I'll take care of you."

England gulped, his face turning six different shades of red. He had no fucking idea what was going on, but he wasn't about to ask questions. A light push at his back sent him forward slightly and shook him from his thoughts and back to his surprisingly pleasant reality.

"Want me to push you higher?"

"N-no, this is quite alright."

"Okey-dokey."

England rolled his eyes. Honestly, the way that boy butchered his language, it was insulting, it was infuriating, it was….

Okay, it was actually quite adorable, but that was beyond the point.

"Why are you doing this?" England asked finally after swinging for a few peaceful minutes.

America shrugged, moving to the front of the swing and catching it before it fell forward. England let out a small 'gak!' in the sudden stop of movement, but kept his eyes firmly planted on the young American.

"Cause it's fun." He smiled warmly, and England hoped America would mistake the reddening of his cheeks for the setting sun. "And I like spending time with you."

"Y-you-"

"Mmm-hmm." He let England fall to the swing's resting position and leaned over so they were face to face. "And I have a pretty good feeling you like spending time with me, too."

England ran a hand through his hair, suddenly finding that particular rock over by that particular tree to be rather interesting. "Well… that is to say…"

America chuckled, using his index finger to turn England's face back to his. "You've always sucked at lying."

England stared into those blue, blue eyes, his heart beating loudly in his chest. America moved closer, smirking cheekily, causing England to gulp and lean back as far as he could without falling from the swing. "A-America…"

Grin. Lean. "Hmm?"

"W-what are you doing?" He leaned back farther, America's half-lidded eyes getting closer and closer.

"Exactly what you want me to be doing, England."

"America, wait! I-"

THUD

"Owww, bloody hell." England rubbed at his newly sore head from his place on the floor, wondering to himself how the fuck he ended up down there. With an irritated groan, he lifted himself back up to his knees and peeked tiredly over the mattress, and straight into the face of a sprawled out, drooling America.

"Ack!" He gasped, falling back. What the fuck was that tosser doing in his bed?!

Oh yes.

He smiled pleasantly to himself. The old fingers in the warm water gag. It was an oldie, but definitely a goodie, if the now ruined sheets on the other country's bed were anything to go by. He itched at his cheek with a smile, standing up and stretching. It was only 6:30AM and the meeting wasn't until 9, but where was the harm in getting a head start to the day?

Scratching a little at his nose, he made his way to the drawer, rummaging though his clothes. A nice suit with a powder blue tie would do nicely and-

Why the _fuck_ did his face itch so _fucking_ bad?!

With a huff, England stumbled to the bathroom, flicked on the light and studied his face in the mirror. His rashed, blotchy, and scarlet face inspected him back with quite a horrified expression.

"What the_ hell?! _America!" The very irritated and itchy Brit stormed from the bathroom, and with forceful kick to his stomach, freed America from his peaceful slumber.

The young nation let out a whelp of surprise, his limbs flailing as he crashed to the carpet in a frazzled heap of blankets and sheets. His head popped from the blankets, his eyes wide and his hands frantically searching for his glasses on the bedside table. "What?! What's going on?! What happened?!"

Finally making connection with his spectacles, they were thrown in front of his eyes, allowing a very aggravated, very blemished British man to materialize mere centimeters from his face. "What happened?" England asked, venom dripping from his husky, far too calm voice. "You look at my face and tell _me_ what happened, you blasted wanker!"

"It's way too early for this shit," America mumbled, rubbing his eyes and blinking a few times to bring them into focus before finally looking at England and choking back a guffaw. "Holy crap! Look at your face!" He exclaimed, falling back in hysterics, "You look like a freaking unripe strawberry!"

England fumed. "I do not look like a bloody unripe strawberry, you git! What the hell did you do to my face?!"

"Oh, I didn't do a thing." America smiled, wiping a few tears out of the corner of his eyes. "All I did was put a little foot fungal cream in your hands, it's not my fault you rubbed it all over yourself."

"Foot fungal cream?!" England cried. Okay, first off, he didn't need to know America apparently had foot fungus. Secondly, the blasted idiot wasn't even taking blame for it!

America nodded, crossing his arms. "Uh-huh, I had plenty of time to put it in your hand when I woke up in the middle of the night after pissing my damn pants."

"Well it's certainly not _my_ fault you wet yourself, America." England crooned, mimicking him bitterly. "All I did was put your hand in a little water. It's not _my_ fault you felt the need to urinate all over yourself."

"Bastard."

"Pisslord."

"Strawberry."

"Pee-wee."

America's eyes narrowed, his lips in a tight frown. "I'm going to shower, before you go in there and screw with something." He stood up and huffed his way to the bathroom, taking one last moment to make an 'I'm watching you' gesture in England's direction before slamming the door shut.

"It's bloody well time!" England called after him. "You smell like piss!"

The door creaked open slightly, a single hand popping out and greeting him with a one-finger salute before slamming shut once again.

England rolled his eyes. Well wasn't _that_ mature. He huffed, plopping himself down at the foot of the unsoiled bed. His nose crinkled, it really did smell dreadful in the room. He stood up and walked aimlessly to the window, cracking it slightly and taking a moment to admire the early morning sunshine.

Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, he closed his eyes, absentmindedly scratching at his still rather itchy face. Yeah, that was going to get really old really fast. Stupid America.

America…

Before he could stop himself, England found his mind wondering back to his abruptly ended dream. A small blush crawled onto his cheeks. What would have happened had he not fallen off the bed? What would have happened had America closed that small space between them? Why did he almost feel disapoin- no. No, no, no. He was not going to let his mind go there.

England stepped away from the window and found his way back to his dresser, finishing his task of picking out his clothes. He definitely wanted to be out of there before America was out of the shower. Thank the good lord he had showered the night before.

Once fully dressed, he raised an eyebrow curiously. "Now where did I put my shoes?" His eyes landed on something poking out from under America's bed. It certainly wasn't his shoe, but it was curious…

He reached under the bed and pulled it out. America's pants; presumably the pair he was going to wear for the day. Hell, probably he only pair of suit pants the guy owned. A smile came to England's lips as he itched at his blemished chin.

Pants in hand, he reached into his luggage and pulled out his trusty pair of pinking shears.

If he had to go to the meeting looking bloody ridiculous, he was going to make damn sure he wasn't the only one.

* * *

Canada sighed nervously, adjusting his tie and smoothing out his hair. This was it. He hadn't hosted a G8 summit in years, having usually been forgotten, but this year was different thanks to the Olympics. He had so much to talk about!

With one last deep breath, he pushed open the meeting room door and stepped inside. Germany sat at the head of the table next to a large stack of paper filled folders, as per usual. He was a rather commanding figure, so unless the meeting was being hosted by America, who rather liked being the center of attention, Germany usually took the role of getting things started.

"Vee~! America is here! America is here, Germany!" Italy cheered, poking at the stoic man's shoulder happily.

Canada smiled sadly. "I-I'm actually Cana-"

"I'm glad you have arrived on time, America." Germany nodded in approval. "It's a pleasant surprise. We're now just waiting on England."

"But I'm not-"

"I am concerned." Japan said solemnly, glancing uneasily at the door. "It is very unlike England to arrive after America."

"But I'm not America! I'm Can-"

Russia smiled pleasantly. "Perhaps he was in a horrible accident on his way over, da?"

…

Everyone stared blankly at the cheery man for a moment before Germany finally broke the silence by clearing his throat. "Yes, well, the meeting doesn't officially start for ten more minutes, so I'm sure he'll be here any moment." On cue, the door opened and England strode in, nodding respectfully to he rest of the table.

"'Ello, everyone, sorry I'm so late. Bloody waitress took forever to bring me my check at breakfast." He sat down and started causally unpacking his briefcase, keeping his eyes firmly on his task. "All I ordered was a cup of tea and a scone, they were quite delicious I must say, but the service was dreadful." He clipped his case shut and placed it delicately on the floor, finally turning up his head and letting his eyes meet the other countries. "I see everyone has arrived, so let's get… What the hellare you all bloody gawking at?"

The other countries respectfully adverted their eyes, with the exception of Italy, who pointed a frightened finger in England's direction. "Vee~! Germany! What's wrong with England's face?!"

"I can enlighten you, _cher Italie_." France grinned. "That would be the result of a _grand_ night full of _l'amour_ for our _Angleterre_." He leered at Canada, who shuddered in response, wishing especially now that everyone would stop mistaking him for his brother.

"Oooh!" Italy cheered, clasping his hand together in delight. "England and America! It's so romantic! Isn't it Germany? Isn't it?"

"It's lovely." Germany sighed, rubbing his temples, wishing that just once, they could have a normal meeting. Just _once_.

England's eye twitched in irritation. "What the fuck are you people talking about?! This-" He gestured wildly to his face. "Is result of that git's fucking foot fungus cream! Bloody hell, a bunch of perverts, that's what you all are."

France smirked. "Is that what they are calling it now-a-days? Foot fungus cream?"

"I will fucking kill you."

Japan smiled apologetically. "Now, now, England-san, You know France is simply kidding with you." He turned his attention back to Germany. "Now that everyone is here, shall we get started?"

Germany nodded, straightening up his papers and opening his mouth to speak before the sound of flesh colliding with the hard tabletop interrupted the action. Bewildered, the G8 members turned their attention to the panting, angry Canadian standing at the end of the table.

"Is everything okay, America?" Russia asked happily.

"I'm not _America_!" Canada exclaimed. "I'm Canada! Ca-Na-Da! I am _hosting_ this meeting! You are all in _my_ county! Maple! America hasn't been here at all! It's been _me_! Me! Canada! Remember the Olympics? Yeah, that big sporting event with all the snow and the ice? That was here! I hosted that! Ca-Na-Da!"

Everyone blinked in surprise at the loud exclamation as Canada calmed himself down. Coming to his senses, France grinned at the flustered nation. "Ah, _Bonjour mon petit Canada_! When did you arrive? You are looking _tres magnifique_, as usual."

"I give up." Canada mumbled, sighing as he let himself fall, defeated, back into his chair.

Italy glanced around the room in confusion. "Vee~? But if that's Canada…Where is America?"

Once again, on cue, the poor abused door to the meeting room was thrown open with tremendous force. Standing in its absence was a very angry, very flustered looking America. The light flashed against his glasses as his blue eyes scanned the room, landing on a knowing, smirking England.

"_You._"

"'Ello America. Nice of you to finally show up."

"Don't you play innocent with me!"

"What ever do you mean?"

America's eyes narrowed and he spun on his heels, shoving his behind right into England's face. In the seat of his pants, his proud star-spangled boxers peaked through a gaping hole that was expertly cut into them. "What the hell was this for, man?! These are my only good suit pants!"

England made a face of disgust and pushed America's rump from his face. "Get that thing away from me, git."

America huffed and shoved it back into place. "I walked over halfway here before I realized what you did. Half of Ottawa was greeted with the sight of my underpants this morning, strutting down the sidewalk. Why?!"

"Why?! Look at me! You can always get new trousers. And get your bloody _arse_ out of my _face!_"

"No. You messed with it, you get to deal with it."

The rest of the G8 shared glances and sighed. This was going to be a long week.

* * *

Oooooh boy! We had some fluffyness going on up there! Sorry this took so long to write, last week was HELL, and I was at the Drake Relays all weekend... Qualifying for nationals in the 4x800 relay!! Woo! I'm pumped. Just saying.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed that chapter! It was pretty long, now that I look at it! Anyway, read, review, etc! Have a good day!


	6. Put your Dignity on the Shelf

"I can't believe you fucking glued me to a bloody chair."

"Karma. You ruin my pants, I ruin yours."

"A bloody _chair_! And what am I left to do? Why, walk back to the hotel in my undergarments because my trousers are glued to a _fucking chair_, _that's_ what I am left to do. Stupid wanker."

"Trust me, the poor citizens of Ottawa got a nice view of the ol' stars and stripes this morning, why not throw in the freaking Union Jack too? Cute boxers by the way, though I always saw you as more of a whitey-tightie man, myself."

"Piss off."

"Took care of that enough last night, Rashy."

The bickering pair of nations tore through the hotel lobby, America sporting the large hole in the seat of his pants, and England completely missing his. Various other hotel gusts regarded them attentively; protective parents guiding amused children from the room… just in case.

Swiping the key card in the door, the men threw their paperwork on the table and started taking off their shoes, grateful the cleaning staff had taken care of things and the room no longer smelled of urine, but fresh evergreens.

"Honestly," England grumbled, tossing his loafers and jacket aside and ripping through his drawer to find a replacement pair of slacks. "Pulling an immature prank like that in the middle of _work_, America? Though I don't now why I'm surprised."

America rolled his eyes, pulling off his suit coat and tie. "Well, maybe if I had been raised better…"

Oh he did _not_.

England bit the side of his cheek, attempting to keep his anger in check. "Or, you know, if you weren't such a sodding idiot. But if you prefer placing blame on everyone but yourself, then have at it." With a frown, he pulled a green, argyle sweater vest over his head and pulled on a pair of khaki's, zipping and buttoning them up.

Ignoring the comment, America set to putting on a proper pair of jeans, and with a woeful sigh, tossed his ruined pair of suit pants into the garbage. His lower lip protruding slightly, he began unbuttoning his dress shirt. "Those were nice pants too. Totally got them on sale."

"Well, maybe you'll think twice before you pull a stunk like- Oh holy hell." England's face turned a florescent shade of red as he turned around to face a now completely shirtless America.

"What?"

England was _not_ staring. _Definitely_ not staring. Not staring at America's toned arms and perfectly chiseled chest and abdomen as he glowed in the setting sunlight cascading over him from the window and- oh bloody hell.

"P-put some clothes on, you git!" He exclaimed, spinning around to keep America from noticing his reddening cheeks.

America raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Dude, you used to bathe me. What's the big deal? It's not like I have anything you don't."

"Th-that is hardly the same!" England exclaimed. "You were a child, and not nearly as…" Attractive? Hot? Sexy? "Old! We are business associates now, and that kind of dress is not acceptable in the presence of-"

America laughed heartily. "Chill old man, chill! I'll put a shirt on!" He threw on a t-shirt and held his arms out at his side, circling once. "There? All better? Can the prude go on in life now that I am no longer whoreing myself out to piercing gaze the bedroom furniture?"

_No_, England thought despite himself, _take it off again_. "Oh shut it." He crossed his arms, stubbornly refusing to let the younger nation see his blush.

America chuckled and shook his head in amusement; England was such a silly little guy. Slipping on his shoes, he slid his wallet into his back pocket and threw his bomber jacket over his shoulder. "So, you coming with me or not?"

"Coming with you where?"

"The store. Thanks to a certain British chap, I am out my only pair of nice pants for the rest of the week. I figured that since you are pantless as well, you might want to come with."

England shot him a questioning look, finally allowing himself to face the younger nation now that his face had cooled down. "I suppose I don't have much of a choice do I? Certainly can't leave you alone, god knows what you'll glue my arse to next. Yes, America I will come with you." He slipped on his dark gray peacoat and strode past America, out the door. "But were stopping for supper; if you remember, I spent my lunch break freeing my hindquarters from a blasted office chair."

America smiled, shutting off the lights and following the shorter man to the elevator. "Deal. But I get to pick the place."

* * *

England ran his hand over a fetching sweater discarded on the rack outside of the dressing room and glanced impatiently at his watch. He had found his replacement pair of pants long before, but of course, America insisted on trying on just about every single pair of suit pants the small department store had to offer.

He let out an irritated groan as his empty stomach made itself known once again. "Hurry up, you prat, I'm bloody starving!"

The changing room door burst open, America gliding out to once again admiring himself in the large mirrors. "What about these?" He turned around, placing his hand on his chin. "Do you think they make my butt look big? I think they make my butt look big."

"Fucking huge. Just buy them so we can get some fucking food."

America frowned. "Seriously, Eng-Arthur." He quickly corrected himself, remembering they were in public. "I think I've been putting on a little weight lately and-"

"Just," he exclaimed. "_Buy the pants_."

"Yeah, but-"

"_Alfred._ For the love of the Queen, buy the fucking pants," England grumbled, his aching hunger and patience weighting on his last nerve. "You look fucking fantastic, so buy the bloody things before I eat them and take care of both our problems."

America glanced shyly back in the mirror, cocking his head to one side. "You really think I look good?"

England blushed, clearing his throat and turning around to fiddle with the sweater once again. "Beautiful," he grumbled sarcastically. "Now take them off so we can pay and get the hell out of here."

* * *

After leaving the department store, America and England hailed a cab, America giving the driver the name of a restaurant. "Mattie suggested it," He explained to England as the driver put the car into drive. "He says they got the best pancakes in Ottawa!"

"Well, Matthew would know I suppose." England nodded.

As the cab pulled over to the side of the road in front of a cozy looking diner, America handed him the money and hopped out, holding the door open for England who simply rolled his eyes and strolled inside.

After a short incident involving England, a whoopee cushion, and a very amused America, the two nations enjoyed pleasant conversation as they ordered and waited for their pancakes. Discussion wavered from the economy to global warming, to how cool the special effects were in _Avatar_ (Though England claimed he hadn't seen it, he had. Six times).

Their waitress, a friendly looking middle aged woman, delivered their pancakes and the hungry nations dug in, their conversation coming to a quick hiatus. As he ate, America couldn't help but smile to himself. He was actually kind of having fun hanging out with England like this, not that he would ever tell him that, but it was true.

As their short stacks turned to crumbs, England dabbed his lips with his napkin and placed it on his plate. "Excuse me, America. I must use the restroom."

"Okay! Don't fall in!"

England shook his head, and once he was positive America was no longer in eyesight, took a quick turn and slid back to the young hostess who sat them at their table.

"Can I help you sir?" She asked, smiling brightly.

"Yes," England replied, glancing quickly over his shoulder to make sure America wasn't watching. "I'm afraid I have some business to attend to, but my associate will be taking care of the check." He smiled as properly as he could. "Just didn't want you to think I was skipping out, or some rubbish like that."

The hostess nodded in understanding. "Of course not sir, I'll make sure your waitress knows. Have a pleasant evening!"

England smirked. "You as well, love."

* * *

England was in the middle of a rather complicated cross-stitch when the door to the hotel room swung open and America marched in, a surprisingly amused look present on his face. "You little stinker! You know, I was wondering why you ordered so much." He crossed his arms, standing at the foot of England's bed, eyebrow raised.

England smirked back up at him, continuing on his needlework blindly but flawlessly. "You owed me anyway for making me miss my lunch, brat."

"But did you _really_ need to order like, thirty pancakes?" He held up a Styrofoam box. "I took your leftovers. I'm not paying for thirty pancakes when you only ate four." He held the box to his chest. "And I'm eating them for breakfast tomorrow, so there."

England chuckled and turned back to his work. "I thought you were gaining weight."

"Shut up. After this conference I'm going to the gym every day."

"Of course you are."

After a while of watching TV and working on needlework, America finally announced he was going to take a shower. "And you better leave my pants alone….And my shirts. Just don't touch my shit."

England scoffed. "Honestly, I'm far too classy to repeat something I did only this morning."

"I don't trust you."

Once the door was shut and locked, England let the smirk he had been holding in since America's return creep it's way onto his face. Oh yes, this would be brilliant, soon the water would start running, and-

"Aw, Jesus _Christ_! _What the FUCK?!"_

The water promptly stopped and the shower certain was thrown back with such force, England could hear it from his place on his bed. He smirked and placed down his work, smiling expectantly as the bathroom door swung open.

"England," America seethed, stepping out from the bathroom with a towel around his waist.

"Yes, dear boy?" England replied cheerily.

"Why the fuck am I _purple_ and smell like a grape?"

"Actually, it is grape-lemonade. _PurpleSaurus Rex_, if we are going to be exact. It was a toss up between that and _Mountainberry Punch_, but I went with this because the name is quite adorable, don't you agree?"

America's purple stained face turned to one of shock and he held out his arm in front of him to inspect it. "This is _Kool-Aid_?! But how did you-?"

He smirked. "I simply put one of those disgusting little packages right in the shower head. Really America, is drinking plain water that painful for you? Anyway, don't worry, the color should wear off in two to three days, maximum."

"Three _days_?!"

"Unless you want to spend the next twenty-four hours in the shower." England shrugged. "Win/win for me, really."

America pointed his mauve index finger in the older nation's face and adjusted his towel roughly. "You better watch yourself," He threatened, walking backwards back into the bathroom with his eyes narrowed. "I know where you sleep, and I can stay up aaaall night, motherfucker. _All night_." SLAM.

England simply smiled and returned to his needlework.

* * *

America waited until four o'clock in the morning before England finally fell asleep. The two shared glares and insults into the early morning as they lay in their beds, before the older nation finally gave in to the blissful world of unconsciousness.

Swinging his legs out of the bed, America crept to the bathroom to retrieve his arsenal. Sparing a woeful glance at his grape (grape-_lemonade_, he corrected himself bitterly) exterior in the bathroom mirror, he grabbed his supplies and snuck back out to the bedroom.

Looming over England's sleeping form, America grinned evilly and set to work.

* * *

Canada fiddled with his papers as he sat quietly at the head of the table. Today was his time to shine! He flipped through his things, making sure it was all accounted for: graphs, charts, statistics, memos, overviews, pictures, essays; it was all there. He took a deep sigh and folded his hands, waiting for Germany to finish the introductions for the day.

Not surprisingly, America and England were not yet in attendance, but after the last day's chair incident, the slightly saner group of nations came to the executive decision to go on with the meeting despite whatever those two were up to.

"-And if attendance is…for the most part, taken care of, we will move on." Germany pulled off his glasses and set them on the table as he sat down. "Today's first topic is the growing obesity rate, and seeing as _America_ has yet to arrive, I believe uh…"

"…Canada."

"Right, Canada. I believe Canada has a presentation ready?"

Italy clapped his hands excitedly as Canada shyly took the head of the table. "Vee~ Go America!"

"I-it's Canada," Canada sighed, plugging his flash drive into the computer. Once his PowerPoint appeared on the screen, he took a deep breath and turned back to the table, opening his mouth to speak.

"You know _bloody well_ that this isn't even remotely the same thing, you tosser!"

"Oh please! You're acting like it's permanent!"

"It's a lot more fucking permanent than what I did to you!"

"They'll _grow back_! Probably even bigger and more frightening than they were before, if that's even possible."

"Why you little-!"

The door to the room busted open, and America and England pushed their way inside together, neither letting the other get in first. Once untangled, they sent each other venom filled glares, until they noticed the rest of the G8 gawking at them in surprise and amusement.

France was the first to get over his shock, busting into deep and powerful laughter, his index finger pointed firmly at the nations. "_Sacrebleu!_" He exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes. "Look at what the cat has dragged in! Tell me _Angleterre,_ where are your eyebrows_?"_

Russia giggled and clapped his hands together happily. "They look funny, da?!"

"Vee~! Germany! Germany! Look at America and England! Look! Don't they look silly, Germany?!"

Germany rubbed his temples. "Hilarious."

Japan stifled a chuckle and smiled apologetically. "What on earth have you done to yourselves?"

England fumed. "I didn't do a fucking _thin_g to myself! This bastard shaved my eyebrows off in my sleep!"

"_Angleterre!" _France managed to gasp between laughter. "You seem to have misplaced your best _amis_! I cannot seem to locate them on your face, which is usually a very simple task to do!"

Russia grinned. "America looks like Barney!"

"I do not look like fucking Barney, you commie bastard!"

"That is enough!" Germany finally exclaimed. "England has no eyebrows and America looks like a grape, this is all very amusing, but we have some serious problems we need to address today!"

"Grape-lemonade, actually."

"Whatever!"

Italy grinned. Germany raised an eyebrow

"What?" He asked.

"Germany is so smart!"

He rolled his eyes. "Can we please just continue?"

America's beamed, seeing Canada's title page on the screen. "Oh, the obesity thing! Yeah, I have my presentation right here!" Grinning, he successfully kicked Canada out of the way and plugged his own flash drive into the computer, bringing up his PowerPoint. "So! As you know, I've had some troubles in this area, but I've got this awesome idea!"

Canada sighed; picking up his papers and sulking sadly back to his seat. "Maple."

* * *

England's eyes shifted from side to side as he pulled a small bottle from his briefcase. Luckily for him, everyone was all too involved with America's speech ("America, turning drive thru's into 'walk thru's' at fast food restaurants to encourage physical activity is completely missing the point.") to notice his devious work.

With an evil chuckle, he poured a little of the contents of the bottle into America's coffee, capped it and placed it back in his briefcase. Smiling contently, he crossed his hands and waited for the American to finish his rambling.

* * *

**There you go! I'm so glad I got this chapter done! I can work on my portfolio that is due tomorrow now! BUT once that is all turned in, I'm FREE!! Which means I'll hopefully get this done soon! **

**Hope you all enjoyed that chapter! Have a good day!**


	7. 13, 14, 15, 16

It wasn't like America didn't _want_ to listen to Russia's presentation on…global warming…? No, fossil fuels! That was it. It wasn't like he wasn't _trying_. He was just very…distracted by other…things.

With a groan, America placed a hand on his stomach and ran his other hand through his hair.

Russia turned to him and smiled far too pleasantly. "Am I boring you, America?" Everyone at the table turned their attention to him as well, curiously taking in his frazzled appearance.

"Nope!" He exclaimed, grinning far too wide for his pained expression. "Please, continue!"

The G8 turned their attention back to Russia, who nodded in approval and continued his rambling. America let out a low groan, holding his stomach and hitting his head on the table with a soft thump. He struggled to lift himself up as his stomach grumbled uncomfortably, and was slightly taken back to lock eyes with another pair across the table.

England smirked knowingly.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" America mouthed, squeaking in discomfort as his stomach released yet another low rumble.

England played innocent, placing his hand to his ear and shrugging with wide, confused eyes.

America glared, whispering a little this time. "_What the fuck did you do to me?_"

"I can't hear you." England mouthed back in response, gesturing to his lips and then to his ear, shrugging again, still in complete wholesomeness.

America scowled. England knew _damn well_ what he was saying! He opened his mouth, ready to give England a piece of his mind; Russia be _damned_, when he felt…it.

Without warning, America slammed his hands onto the table and hoisted himself to his feet. Spinning on his heels, and with not so much as a nod to dignify the other nation's questioning looks, he exited the room with a bizarre shuffle/speed-walk hybrid type action, slamming the door behind him in his wake.

The remaining nations exchanged surprised glances, Italy's face falling in worry. "Wow, that was really strange. I hope he's okay…" He mumbled.

"I wouldn't fret." England smiled, sipping at his cup of tea causally. "It was probably just something he ate. Do continue Russia, we can fill him in on what he missed when he returns."

As everyone, once again, turned their attention back to the large nation and his talk of fossil fuels, England smiled proudly at his briefcase, where his small bottle sat comfortably.

He patted the top of the case proudly, congratulating the laxatives on a job well done.

* * *

"I'm going to die."

America sat on the toilet, his head between his knees, moaning in agony. He checked his watch with half lidded eyes for lack of anything better to do. Two hours. He had spent two hours in this fucking bathroom while his stomach emptied its entire contents for god knows what reason. He let out another moan.

The bathroom door opened attentively, and America briefly glanced under the stall in hopes of recognizing who his visitor was by their shoes. There was a brief moment of alarm when he didn't see anything, and he cursed himself for choosing a haunted bathroom. But before he would panic too much, a small voice called to him.

"America?"

"Canada?" Well that would explain why he didn't see anything at least.

Footsteps came closer until they stopped in front of America's stall. "You okay? You've been in there a while…"

"I'm dying."

"You're not dying." Canada rolled his eyes; his brother could be such a drama queen. "England put laxatives in your coffee, you'll be fine once you're all…" he shuddered. "Finished."

There was a groan and a sound Canada wasn't even aware the human body could make before America replied maliciously. "Oh, is he gonna get it."

Canada sighed. "America, how long is this going to go on?"

There was a pause. "I dunno, depends on how much laxative he put in my coffee."

Oh, gross. "Not that!" The smaller nation held the bridge of his nose in irritation. "I mean this whole prank war thing. You can't honestly be enjoying all this."

"Well I'm not right _now_." America grunted. "But I'm sure as hell not going to be the first one to back down."

"I was afraid of that," Canada sighed. "Just promise me you wont let this get out of hand, okay?"

Silence.

"_America_."

"Okay, okay, I promise. _Sheesh_."

Canada nodded in satisfaction, turning to leave. "It's lunch by the way. Italy wanted to know if he should bring you some pasta."

"Uuugh."

"I'll just…take that as a no."

* * *

The walk back to the hotel was full of high tensions for America and England. America clutched his folder of papers, charts, and statistics to his chest and rested his eyes on various objects around him, as long as they were in the direction England was not. His lips formed an unmistakable pout and his strides were at double their normal length.

The older country, however, was grinning wildly, a playful twinkle in his eye as he continued to keep in step with America.

"Rather _shoddy_ meeting today wasn't it?" England asked with a smirk, finally breaking the silence. America made an annoyed "humph" in response.

"Russia certainly had a lot of _crap_ to say, today."

America's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

"Real _diarrhea_ of the mouth." England continued, his grin widening.

America gripped his papers tighter. England beamed.

"He must have been right _pooped_!"

"Shut the fuck up, will ya?! It's not funny! I spent three hours on that fucking toilet!"

England shut his mouth for a moment, glancing up at the pouting nation. America had taken to walking even faster now, his eyes focused straight ahead and jaw firmly set. Crossing his arms, England stuck his nose into the air. "Party _pooper_."

"Asshole," America grunted. The two suddenly stopped walking and stared at each other for a few moments, each taking in what America had just said. They blinked once, and England erupted into a fit of hysterics. Despite himself, America let a small smirk sneak to his lips as he continued walking. "Oh, fuck you."

* * *

"And, yeah throw in one of those too. No, no the one with the cheese. Yeah, and a salad. Ranch. Yeah. No. Can you do that? Awesome! Ummm, what kind of cake? Yeah I'll take one of those, and a cookie! Chocolate chip. Yep. Yep. Room 237. Yep! Bye!"

England raised an eyebrow. "What the bloody hell did you just order?"

"Everything." America replied simply, plopping next to England on his bed. "I'm fucking starving. If you didn't notice, my entire digestive system is flowing through the Canadian sewer system as we speak, and I will eat what I want."

England shook his head, scooting away from America as he made himself comfortable on _his_ bed. "You have your own bed, you twat."

"But it's all the way over there!" America whined. "Plus yours is actually a lot more comfortable. Trade?"

"Why the hell would I trade when you just openly confessed to my bed being superior?" He scoffed and nudged America away from him with his foot. "Make room, you bloody overweight cow."

America reluctantly scooted a few centimeters away and huffed. "There is no way you can call me fat right now, you bastard. Not after today." He pulled his shirt up, reveling his well-toned stomach to a considerably pleased England. "See? Skin and bones. I've wasted away to nothing thanks to you."

England puffed his cheeks in annoyance, turning his head away so the younger nation wouldn't see his blush. Skin and bones his _arse_. "You are a twat." He fiddled with the book he had been trying to read, looking at the page but seeing nothing but black scribbles. "Why did you order all of that ridiculously expensive room service food, anyway? They have an open kitchen in this hotel, I could have made you something."

America's face filled with horror, eyes wide at the older nation from his spot on the pillow beside him. "Because I've already had explosive diarrhea once today by your hands. I'm set for a while, thanks."

England glared as a knock and call of 'room service!' floated from the door. With a roll of his eyes and a yelp from the young nation, England booted America off the bed and to the floor. "Just go get your bloody food."

Rubbing his behind, America stuck his tongue out as he hoisted himself to his feet. England rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back to his book as America answered the door. "Well, hey here!" He heard him call. "Yep, that's me. Uh-huh, thanks! Have a great day!" he came back around the corner grinning from ear to ear.

England blinked. "They gave you the _cart_?"

"I have a lot of food." America shrugged and sat down at the end of England's bed and started opening boxes and lifting up treys, with a triumphant 'ah-ha!' he spun around and shoved a box in England's face. "Here, I got you this."

"What did you do to it?" England asked, taking it but holding it a good distance from his person. Never know when something was going to explode around here.

America laughed, grabbing a hotdog from the cart and shoving it into his mouth. "Noffin'!" He swallowed. "Just saw it on the menu and thought you would appreciate it."

England narrowed his eyes suspiciously before peaking inside the box. "Fish and chips?" He asked, opening the box fully and blinking in surprise.

"Right-o!" The younger nation grinned. "Fish and chips with a spot-o' tea and crumpets! Jolly good!" England cringed at the ridiculously fake British accent but smiled nonetheless.

"You're a git. But thank you."

America simply flashed his movie star smile and a thumbs-up and returned to tearing through his mountain of food. England fiddled with the box of seafood and potatoes in his hands and smiled at the back of the young nation's head. Blushing ever so lightly, he took a fork out from inside the box and nibbled on a chip.

* * *

Apparently, America didn't give a damn that England was unwilling to surrender his bed. He had made himself quite comfortable, and England was just going to have to deal with that. Unless of course, _England_ thought he would be able to physically move _America_ himself, but come on, _pretty_ unlikely.

England scoffed as the tosser made himself comfortable, flipping through television channels, laying just close enough to the older nation to make him extremely uncomfortable and holy hell, was it hot in here or is it just him?

England bit his lip, his book in front of his face, but his eyes trailing along America's strong shoulders… golden hair… blue eyes…

Blue eyes that were looking _right_ at him. "Bloody hell!"

"And welcome back to the living. Dude you were seriously spacing out there. What's up?"

England blushed, crossing his arms with a huff and jerking his head away from America. "I-I was just…trying to figure out what's going on in that insignificant little head of yours!" Yeah, that was good, keep going with that. "I'm surprised you haven't tried to pay me back for this morning's incident is all!"

America grinned. "Oh, that? Ha! Don't you worry. You'll get what's coming to you." He turned his attention back to the TV with an evil little smirk gracing his lips. "When you _least_ expect it."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, old man." America glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "I got some big plans for you, and I don't want you to see them coming."

England scoffed. "Bring it on, brat. I'll have you begging for mercy before you even get a chance to strike."

The nations settled into a thick but comfortable silence as they lay beside each other on England's so much more comfy bed. Each was lost in his own thoughts; blissfully unaware they were identical to the other's.

_I need to make a phone call._

_

* * *

_

"_Nein_. The last thing we need is to have him involved in this."

"_Non, non_! I think this idea is _tres magnifique_!"

Canada sighed and stared pleadingly at Germany. "Please? I really think this could finally end this whole thing between America and England. You know they're going to call him eventually."

Germany sighed. "_Mein Bruder_ causes more problems than he does solutions."

"But when it comes to dealings with practical jokes, Prussia-san really is the only option." Japan pointed out politely. "I do not see any other way."

Russia grinned, holding up his pipe. "I could terminate them completely, ja?"

Italy's eyes widened as he scooted closer to Germany. "Vee~! I like the plan with big brother Prussia more."

"Please, Germany?" Canada asked, desperately. Germany sighed.

"It will be difficult to get him to agree to come here on such a short notice."

Canada smiled. "Don't worry about that, I think I have an idea."

* * *

**PRUSSIA BITCHES! Please, like there could be a fic about pranks and not include the awesome Prussia? I think not! This chapyer totally included like, my 2 favorite things: puns and toilet humor. I love it!**

**Anyway, Summer time for me! Kinda. I'm still stuck at school (in the dorms D: I miss my apartment) for the rest of the month for track, but no classes!! Woo! Anyway, hope you enjoyed!**

**And just so you guys know, you ROCK. I didn't think this fic would get to be so popular, and you guys are just fantastic! Keep it up! **


	8. The Greatest Prank You've Ever Seen

England fiddled with his mobile and sighed deeply. Did he _really_ want to do this?

No. No he did not.

Did he really want to get the last laugh on America?

Yes. Yes, he most certainly did.

Did he want the last laugh enough to call _Prussia_ and ask for his help?

Perhaps. The jury was still out on that one.

Biting his lip, he took a deep breath and pushed the green call button. There was no turning back now. Two and a half distinct rings sounded before a click, and England closed his eyes, wincing and holding his phone a good couple of inches from his ear, anticipating-

"_WAZ-UP MOTHA FUCKA?_ The awesome Prussia is at your service! Talk before you bore me."

England rolled his eyes. "Hullo Prussia, It's England."

"Iggy! My man! To what do you owe this pleasure?"

England sighed and ran a hand through his hair, already regretting his decision. "Listen Prussia, I'm sure you've heard of the small scuffle America and I have been involved in as of late and-"

"Oh yeah, that prank war thing you and Wonder Boy got going on!" Prussia interrupted. "Nice move there screwing with that faggy rock of his, Iggs! Though I would have done one better and put _my_ face on it. Just goes to show how you aren't nearly as awesome as me!"

"Yes, yes, not nearly as awesome; a right tosser. Listen Prussia-"

"Let me guess!" Prussia interrupted again. England grumbled in annoyance. "You want my awesome advice on a prank that will really show the kid who's boss."

England shrugged; glancing quickly over his shoulder to make sure America was still asleep. "More or less. But if you don't mind, I don't feel comfortable talking about this right now. America could wake up at any second and I-"

"No problemo! Meet me down in the lobby for breakfast at 8 o'clock and I'll tell you my awesome ideas!"

England blinked. "Lobby? Prussia, how-?" _Click!_ Well that was certainly strange. Surely Prussia didn't mean the hotel lobby downstairs? Of course he didn't, that would be ridiculous.

Then again it _was_ Prussia.

England checked his watch, 7:13am. He grabbed his clothes for the day and went into the bathroom to wash up.

Better safe than sorry, anyway.

* * *

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Artie!" Prussia exclaimed, kneeling up on the booth he was sitting on and waving his arms wildly. "Over here! Yoohoo! _Artie!_"

England ducked his head, trying to avoid the stares of fellow breakfast goers as he slinked over to Prussia's table. "What in God's name are you wearing?" England asked as he slid into the booth across from Prussia. Honestly, the man looked more Canadian than Canada himself.

"You like it?" Prussia grinned. He adjusted the large foam maple leaf on his head and pointed to the tree that was printed on his t-shirt. "Get it? 'I'd tap that'? Like tapping for syrup, but also like-"

England cringed and held up his hand. "Yes. Yes I get it. Just…_why_ are you wearing it?" He paused. "And why the bloody hell are you here in the first place?"

"Mattie told me about the Maple Syrup Fest! He knows how much I love that shit, good kid, even paid for my ticket! Not that I needed it or anything, the awesome me is never low on cash. Hey you hungry? "

"Well, I suppose I could eat a little some-"

"_HEY WIATRESS!" _Prussia suddenly exclaimed, standing up at the table and snapping his fingers. "Get your sweet ass back over here! We want some waffles!"

England sunk into his booth, suddenly remembering _exactly_ why he stopped hanging out with Prussia unless he was absolutely pissed. How humiliating.

An especially unhappy young woman sulked over to the table, notepad in her hand a scowl on her face. "What can I get for you, _gentleman_?" She spat, and England had a feeling she had been dealing with the other nation long before he arrived.

He gave her an apologetic smile. "Just a cup of tea for me, thanks."

"Nonsense!" Prussia laughed, hitting the table with his fist. "Artie and me will have two of the biggest waffles you got! And smother them in syrup! Hop to it, sweet cheeks!" He gave the waitress a hearty slap on her tush, causing her to spin around and glare daggers before stomping off.

England sighed, rubbing his temples. "Honestly, must you be so vulgar? You're going to get us kicked out."

Prussia waved it off. "You kiddin' me? _They_ should be paying _me_ for staying at this joint! They could never kick the awesome me out!" He laughed heartily and crossed his arms, smirking at the other nation. "But let us get down to business, eh? We need a prank that's really gonna knock Wonder Boy's socks off."

England nodded. "I was thinking something along the lines of-"

"Whatever you're thinking, forget it. I have an even awesomer idea!"

"_Awesomer_ is not a word." England rolled his eyes; ignoring the fact Prussia didn't even give him a chance to explain his idea. "And what is it? It better be bloody fantastic."

Prussia smiled, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, trust me my little British friend. It's _awesome_."

* * *

The two parted ways in front of the hotel, England heading to the summit, and Prussia to…well, whatever it was Prussia did with himself during the day. He had a syrup tasting at ten o'clock, so he had a while to kill.

Admiring the clean Canadian air and the fine Canadian chicks, who were totally digging him by the way, he wasn't fazed in the least when his cell phone started blaring from his pocket.

Lazily checking the caller ID, despite knowing exactly who it was already, Prussia smirked and held the phone to his ear.

"America, what a surprise! Lunch? Sure…anywhere but the hotel restaurant."

* * *

Not surprisingly, America was waiting at the entrance of the conference room for England when he arrived. His arms were crossed in a most disapproving fashion, and his eyes were narrowed as he seemed to intently study England's face for any sign of mischief.

Said country simply raised an eyebrow in amusement and slipped past the taller man, who followed him closely into the room. It was only after America placed his chair nearly on top of England, that the older nation finally decided to address the situation.

"May I _help_ you, America?"

"Where were you this morning?" It was more of a statement than it was a question, and England narrowed his eyes challengingly.

France smirked, leaning over to whisper in Italy's ear. "Oh my, _cher Amérique_ is a little possessive of his lover, _oui_?" Italy giggled and nodded happily.

"While I do not see why it would be a concern to you, I was having breakfast with an old friend." England replied simply, organizing his papers on the table.

Unnoticed by America and England, the other G8 members shared knowing, satisfied smiles.

America scoffed. "False. You don't have any friends."

"And what the bloody hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

At that point, Japan politely stood and raised a hand to gather the group's attention. "I believe I have a presentation on the improvement and maintenance of current technology, so I will commence today's meeting." He took the head of the table, and with a silent 'thank you so much you wonderful, wonderful man' nod from Germany, started up his PowerPoint.

America and England both huffed in annoyance. With his eyes narrowed and a prominent pout gracing his lips, America shot England an 'I'm watching you' gesture, causing the older nation to stick his nose in the air and roll his eyes in response.

Canada watched this spectacle and sighed, hoping beyond hope that this would all come to an end soon.

* * *

Germany gathered his notes into a pile; paper clipped them together and slipped them into his briefcase. "That will conclude the first half of today's discussion on technology. Please be back from your lunch in one hour, we will be starting again at exactly 1 o'clock."

The nations each gave their own acknowledgement in reply and began packing up their papers and notes. America was the first to stand up and head for the door, but was quickly stopped by Italy, who jumped from the table and stopped him at the door.

"Hey America! We were all going to go get some pasta at that place down the street! Did you want to come?"

Russia clapped his hands together excitedly. "I'm going to get spaghetti! I like how it looks like brains covered in blood." Canada stuck out his tongue in disgust behind him, mentally crossing spaghetti off his list of possible meal choices.

America smiled apologetically. "Sorry dude, I have plans to meet someone."

This definitely caught England's attention. "What plans, you twat?"

"_Plans_." America replied mockingly, slipping his bag over his head so the strap lay across his chest. "Had you been in the room this morning and not out planting things to kill me around the city, you would have known. So if you'll excuse me, I'll try to catch you guys tomorrow, okay Italy? See you around!"

Italy grinned and waved goodbye as America disappeared out the door. "Bye America! Have fun on your date!"

England choked. "Date? He never said he was going on date!"

"Isn't it obvious, _Angleterre_?" France asked smoothly, wrapping an arm easily around England's shoulders. "Why else would _doux_ _Amérique _be so secretive, if it is not for _amour's_ sweet caress?"

England wiggled out of Frances embrace, slapping his hand away. "There are plenty of other reasons, frog! He's probably planning some elaborate prank." England watched as America walked briskly down the hallway as the rest of the G8 filtered out behind him. He checked his watch, seemingly startled by the time, and picked up his pace to a slow jog until he reached the stairs and was out of sight.

Of course there were other reasons, England told himself. He just…couldn't think of any at the moment.

By the time the rest of the nations made it outside, America was nowhere to be found. England bit his lip, convincing himself that feeling in the pit of his stomach was most definitely hunger, and definitely had nothing to do with America and this _'date'_ rubbish.

With one last glance in each direction, he followed the group to the Italian restaurant on the corner.

* * *

When America finally arrived at the agreed upon McDonalds, Prussia was already well on his way of being forcibly removed from the premises by an extremely irritated young man behind the counter.

"All I'm asking for is a whopper! I don't see why this is such a hard concept for you people to grasp."

"I've already told you _twenty times_, sir. We do not sell 'whoppers' here, that's _Burger King_."

Once America got that all straightened out and ordered four number 5's, a number 7 and three number 2's with extra pickles, he and Prussia slid into a booth to get down to business.

"So let me get this straight." Prussia began, shoving his burger into his mouth while America followed suit. "You wanna play an awesome prank on little Iggy, so naturally you come to the awesome me for help."

America nodded, speaking through his mouthful of food. "That's right! Usually I wouldn't need any help coming up with anything, because heroes don't need help, but I'm positive he's planning something big, so I want to make sure this is really something else!"

Prussia studied the younger nation for a second before cracking his knuckles and leaning forward, ushering America to do the same with a wiggle of his finger. "So, just making sure, does this have anything to do with you wanting into Iggy's pants?"

America instantly choked. With wide eyes, he dropped the rest of his burger and started hitting his chest, motioning with the other hand for Prussia to get the fuck over there and help him.

"_Mein gott_!" Prussia exclaimed, leaping up and smacking the American in the back until the food became unclogged and he could breathe normally again. With a sigh of relief from both nations, Prussia sat back down, ignoring the looks from the other customers. "Jesus, Al! Don't do that!"

"What the fuck, Gil?" America gasped, and Prussia noticed his face was still just a bit redder than it should have been.

"What? What did I do?"

America's eyes darted around the establishment, making sure no one was paying attention to them. "Why would you say something like _that_?"

"Like what?" Prussia asked, before realization finally sunk in. "Oooh, you mean about you wanting in Iggy's pants."

"Yes that!" America hissed, glaring at the other nation. "What the _fuck_, man?"

Prussia laughed heartily, despite America's glare. "No? Seriously? You're still denying it? Come on Al, you're more awesome than that!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." America spat, though his reddening cheeks were definitely saying otherwise.

Prussia smirked. "I think you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, lover boy."

America's face turned an even deeper share of red, which complimented with his still slightly purple tint, actually made a rather pretty color as far as Prussia was concerned. "I do not," he paused to shudder, "want to '_get in Iggy's pants_'. That is…that's just…So many things are wrong with that, that I don't even…gross. It's just gross."

"What's the big deal?" Prussia asked taking a large gulp of his chocolate milk shake. "Artie's an attractive enough bloke." He shrugged, giggled and pointed to his shirt. "I'd tap that. Heehee, get it?"

"It doesn't matter!" America cried. "He's like, my father…brother…best friend…_thing_! None of which translate well into the getting-into-the-pants category!"

Prussia laughed. "Kid, were nations, _everyone_ is included into the getting into the pants category. It's just how it works." He took another loud slurp of his shake. "Ten bucks says he wants in yours."

If at all possible, America's face turned an even deeper shade of red. He shoved a handful of fries into his mouth, and crossed his arms across his chest with a huff. "Can we please not talk about this anymore? Just tell me your prank idea, I have to get back to the meeting soon!"

"Fine, fine, we'll talk about my awesome prank." Prussia smirked. "Still say Iggs wants in your pants, though."

"Dude!"

"Sorry, sorry! Sheesh. Okay, so here's the plan…"

* * *

This. This right here, wasn't good. Not good at all.

The rest of the meeting had started off decently enough. Once America returned to the conference room (late of course, but only by, like, five minutes), a few words had been shared on their respective lunches, and Germany had taken the stage to begin discussion on making technology "greener".

Not like America would have known, however. No, his focus was on something all together different, namely a mop of unruly blonde hair and a pair of striking green eyes.

Had England's eyes _always_ been that green?

No. Bad. He was _not_ letting what Prussia said get to him like this.

Of course, because America was pretty damn sure that God hated him, England's turn to talk was next. Papers were passed about; something about the use of technology at the upcoming 2012 summer Olympics he was hosting, but that was of little interest to the young nation.

No, what really captured his attention was the way England's fingers danced across the screen that was displaying his presentation. The way they trailed along the smooth white surface of the screen, taking extra care to stop at various timing devices to point out exceptionally accurate motion censors for races, painstakingly mocking him from across the table, running along the picture in a precise, careful motion.

Sweet merciful Jesus, he was drooling.

With a quick wipe of his shirt sleeve across his lips, and a loosening of his tie because _damn_ it was getting hot in there, America set to taking notes, _any_ notes to keep his mind off of whatever England was doing. _Italy is wearing blue_. He wrote furiously. _Japan has black hair. France is a pervert. _His pen slowed to a much slower, meditative pace.

_England has a tiny freckle on the side of his nose. _

America yelped, scribbling that last one out desperately and prayed to whoever would listen up there that England would please, _please_ just ignore him for the rest of the day.

* * *

For the life of him, England could not take his eyes off America.

America was a good-looking lad. England had come to terms with that a long time ago, so what was making him so bloody irresistible all of a sudden?

It certainly wasn't jealousy/possessiveness streaming from the young man's lunch date, though. Nope. And it _definitely_ had nothing to do with the tiny little looks the younger nation had been suddenly sneaking him all afternoon. Nuh-uh. He didn't even notice those.

Oh bloody hell.

With a deep breath, England gestured to the papers he had passed out to the group and tried to keep his eyes trained on the motivational poster on the wall behind America.

_Endurance_, the poster read, accompanied by a young couple running together on a pleasant looking forest trail, _Excellence is not a singular act, but a habit. You are what you repeatedly do._

Oh, England would repeatedly test _America's_ endurance all right.

He mentally slapped himself for _that_ one. This was getting fucking ridiculous.

With a final huff, he slammed his fist against the screen that his presentation had been projected on. "As you all know," he exclaimed, quickly gaining the room's attention, "as the years go on, the competition in the Olympics continues to increase at a rather shocking rate. It is because of the importance of assuring fair and accurate race results, specifically for track and field and swimming, that we have invested in the highest quality timers and censors on the market."

There. He was doing rather brilliantly, if he did say so himself. He let his eyes strain from his poster to take in the nods of the other counties before fixing his gaze back in place, not allowing the view his eyes oh so desired.

_Endurance. _"As you can all see, each of these small motion censors will be installed in every lane." Despite himself, his eyes began to sink lower, past Nantucket, past those amber waves of grain… he felt himself begin to sweat. "W-we want to ensure that each c-country is comfortable and content in all race results. We want the world to view scoring with big…blue eyes...new! New eyes! We want them to see scoring with new eyes!"

England cursed to himself, thanking God America didn't appear to notice his slip, though Japan and France seemed to be sneaking him knowing smirks. He ignored them. He needed to focus! _Endurance!_

"A-and so, for extra reassurance," England gulped, America was loosening his tie. The garment fell slightly, leaving the unbuttoned collar of America's dress shirt to fall open, revealing smooth skin and a single collarbone. England forced his gaze away once again. _E-endurance…?_ "The 100 meter d-dash runners will each be equipped with a chip that will be…skin…pin! Pinned to theirshoestoensuretheirexactpointoffinishing!"

He spat out these final words of his presentation quickly, yanking his flash drive from the computer and falling into his seat heavily, covering his head with his hands. This was a disaster, this whole bloody thing.

He needed to complete Prussia's prank tonight, he decided to himself. Hopefully it would finally put an end to this whole thing and he could get as far away from America as humanly possible.

He sighed miserably to himself and wondered how the weather on the moon was this time of year.

* * *

**This chapter was later than I intended, and I blame all of you. You see, if you didn't all keep writing such awesome stories, I wouldn't have been so distracted. Jerks, stop being so good!**

**Anyway, this was the 2nd to last chapter, there will be 1 more and it will be over. I'm torn between relieved and sad because I had so much fun with all of this, but at the same time, I have all these little one-shots I wanna get to but haven't let myself until I finished this. :P Hopefully you've enjoyed this as much as I have!**

**And as always, keep being awesome and writing me reviews! When I feel a writers block, I always go and see what awesome things you all wrote and it truly inspires me to keep going, so thanks to everyone for those! **

**Oh yes, one more thing, I discovered a video recorder thingie on my computer (I've had it for 3 years...shut up I'm slow.)And I was thinking about doing a little video FAQ thing with it, if you guys would be interested! Let me know on here, and I'll put a poll on my profile. Just let me know if you would be interested! I just really want to get to know my readers, and thought it would be a cool idea! I have no shame! XD**


	9. 17, 18, 19, 20

It was easy for the President of the United States to ignore the light tapping at his bedroom door at 4 o'clock in the morning at first. He simply groaned, buried his head under his pillow, and scooted closer to his wife. Problem solved.

It was only after the tapping evolved into knocking, and then again into full force _beating_, that his wife kicked him beneath the blankets and he was forced to drag himself out of bed and rip the door open.

"World War III had better just have started, because that is the only reason you have to be waking me up this early."

The bookish looking man in the doorway shrunk back nervously and cleared his throat. "W-well, sir, n-no it hasn't…but it might…Soon."

This definitely got his attention. "And what do you mean by _that_?"

The other man shakily handed a manila folder over to the head of state, pursing his lips and sighing apologetically. "These pictures were taken this morning. Special Services are already at the scene, but we're afraid that tens of thousands have already become aware…"

"Become aware of wha-" The President froze as his eyes landed on the picture inside of the folder.

The bookish looking man squirmed. "A-and under that, sir, is a transcript from a phone call from the British Prime Minister at approximately three this morning, so around eight a.m. over there…He's on his way over here now…and he's _not_ happy."

The president's hands curled into fists, crumpling the folder in his grasp as well. The other man winced, fiddling with his hands nervously.

"S-sir?"

"Tell Special Services to do what they can to keep as many civilians from seeing this as they can," he said simply. "And tell the Prime Minister to come to my office as soon as he gets in." Throwing on his green striped bathrobe and fuzzy white slippers, he strode out of the bedroom angrily, ignoring his wife's imploring calls.

The other man followed behind him frantically, straining to catch the folder as the President tossed it aside. "Sir? Where are you going?"

His gaze hardened. "To make a phone call."

* * *

Talk about déjà vu.

America and England sat, once again, on the hard, wooden chairs in front of the large oval office desk, and once again, their superiors stood in front of them menacingly, each sporting a scowl on his face.

The Prime Minister was the first to speak, crossing his arms. "'Ello gentleman."

"Sir."

"Hello, sir."

"Do either of you know why you were asked to come to my office today?" The President asked, raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"I have a hunch?" America grinned weakly.

"And you, Arthur?"

England bit his lip, but stubbornly held his head high. "I may have a slight familiarity of your intention."

The President and Prime Minister exchanged looks. With a nod, the Prime Minister took a picture from his pocket and held it to his chest. "Perhaps_, Arthur_, you could inform the rest of the room as to why Mr. Jones and yourself have been forcibly removed from the G8 meeting in Ottawa, as well as the reason for my eight hour flight to Washington DC this morning before I was even spared the chance for my morning cup of tea and scone?"

America scoffed. "You should be thanking us for stopping you from eating one of those things."

The President thumped him in the back of his head with a searing glare. "Alfred."

"Sorry, sorry."

England cleared his throat, eyeing the back of the picture with caution. "Well, uh…t-that is to say-"

"Or perhaps, the Statue of Liberty should tell us all herself?"

America's eyes widened as he turned to England in alarm. "What did you do to Lady Liberty?"

"Well…I-"

Honestly, England never understood America's ridiculous obsession with that damn statue. The thing was a bloody gift from _France_ of all people to basically celebrate England getting his ass kicked, and America fucking put the thing out in ocean for anyone coming to the country to see, pasted it over every post card and t-shirt in production, and even made costumes of the thing for Halloween.

Ungrateful little bastard.

He regretted _nothing_.

With a heavy sigh, the Prime Minister held the picture out in front of him. America grabbed at it hungrily. "_This_, Alfred, is what he did to her."

America gaped in shock at the picture that sat mockingly in his trembling hands. For where his once proud and beautiful stature stood majestically, there now stood…something complete different.

"What the _FUCK_ England? Who the _fuck_ is this ugly chick and why the _fuck_ is she _fucking naked_?"

"Hey!" England snapped, ripping the picture out of his hands protectively. "Susan Boyle is a lovely woman with an angelic singing voice and is loved all around the world!"

America scoffed. "No. That is an ugly, ugly woman who is very, very naked and- Oh my god! Children! There are children who can see that right now, England! What the _fuck_, man?" He turned desperately towards his boss, mourning his vandalized family values. "Please tell me that thing is covered up. Please tell me no one has seen this."

The President rubbed the back of his neck. "They are estimating a bit over a hundred-thousand at this point…Not counting those who have seen her on the internet."

"Hundred-thous-?" He gasped. "Those poor people! My poor Lady Liberty!" His depressed features melted abruptly into one of anger as he turned suddenly to face England. The older nation jumped back slightly. "_You_. You ruined my Lady Liberty! Change her back, right now!"

"Alfred." The President said crossly, drawing the irate nation away from attacking the other. "The Statue of Liberty wasn't the _only_ feminine national icon to be tampered with last night, you know."

America blushed, sitting back in his seat with straight posture and a guilty flash in his eyes. England regarded him attentively out of the corner of his eye, raising an eyebrow.

"What on earth do you mean by _that_?" He asked.

America whistled nonchalantly.

"America you twat, what is he talking about?"

"Alfred." The President crossed his arms. "You wouldn't by any chance know the whereabouts of the _Queen_, now would you?"

…

"YOU KIDNAPPED THE BLOODY QUEEN?"

America smiled sheepishly. "Technically, '_abducted'_ would probably be a better term…"

"YOU FUCKING IDIOT!" And suddenly, England was on top of America, and the two were involved in a vicious boxing match as their bosses watched in shock, amusement, and concern (but only a little for that last one).

"Ow! Hey! What are you getting so mad at me for? She is being perfectly taken care of!"

"You mean by that fucking alien of yours? It's insane! Lord knows what he's done to her by now!"

"Don't you dare insult Tony! At least he _exists_! Which is more than I can say about _you're_ little friends!"

"If you are implying that my fairies are indeed fictional, I implore you as to how your beloved statue received her makeover in the first place, you git."

America paused pulling on England's hair for a second before resuming his pursuit. "That is completely beside the point!"

Finally the President stepped between the nations, pulling them apart and pushing them back into their chairs. "Okay, okay, that's enough, gentlemen."

With one last glare, England and America turned their attention back to their bosses, straightening their clothes and fixing their hair as they tried to catch their breath. The Prime Minister raised an eyebrow. "Are you quite finished?"

America punched England in the arm and grinned. "Now I am."

"Why you little-!"

"_Gentlemen_!"

Both nations snapped to attention, England flicking America's ear once more for good measure. The Prime Minister rolled his eyes. "Mr. President and I talked it over, and we believe we've come to a decision on an appropriate punishment for your actions."

"Punishment?" America gasped, England following suit.

"Sir! That Statue of Liberty rubbish wasn't even my idea!"

"Yeah!" America agreed. "Neither was abducting the Queen!"

"Oh?" The President asked, obviously skeptical, "Then whose ideas were they?" England fiddled with his thumbs while America rubbed the back of his neck. They each took a breath and replied together.

"Prussia."

The President sighed. "Oh Jesus Christ."

"That certainly explains a lot," the Prime Minister agreed, rubbing his temples. "But ignoring your terrible lack in judgment, you both deliberately ignored our orders of keeping these childish pranks to yourselves."

The President nodded, picking up a key ring from the top of his desk and walking slowly to the door. With a wave of his hand, he motioned for the others to follow. "We didn't want it to come to this, but you leave us no choice."

America bit his lip as he lifted himself from his chair. "W-where are we going?"

"I hope you boys got plenty of sleep while you were at the conference." The President replied with an almost malicious smile. "Because tonight, you're staying with your old pal Abe Lincoln."

America shrieked, turned white, and fainted. With a sigh, England helped drag him from the room.

* * *

"Let us out! _LET US OUT!"_

"Bloody hell, you twat, that hasn't worked for the past ten minutes, what makes you think it's going to work now?"

America shot his head towards the other nation hastily. "I have to try!" He resumed pounding his fists on the door's hard wooden surface. "I can't stay in here! I can't! I won't even _walk_ by this stupid room at night, let alone _spend the night_ in it!"

England rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall with a huff. "So we have to sleep in Lincoln's bedroom. What's the ruckus all about? Seems perfectly satisfactory to me."

"Perfectly satisfactory until Honest Abe himself comes out of the wall and starts terrorizing us in our sleep."

England scoffed. "Oh, that is such rubbish. Have you ever even seen this supposed ghost?"

"No," America pouted, "but I know tons of people who have! And think of Abe, you met him! You guys were all talking about that creepy cult stuff you were both into. He was totally the kind of guy to come back as a ghost." His voice dropped to a whisper. "His wife even told me he dreamt about his _own death_ before it happened."

"Well," England replied simply, slipping off his loafers and pulling the sheets down on the bed, "if you see him, give him a rowdy 'ello for me, I'm bloody knackered, so I'm going to sleep."

"DON'T YOU DARE!" America screamed, leaping from the door to the bed in a single motion, landing atop the startled nation as he attempted to climb under the covers.

"Oi! Sod off!"

"No!"

"America!"

"England!"

Glares were exchanged, each nation refusing to back down. England cursed himself for the small pink tinge he could feel creeping up to his cheeks from being pressed to the bed by America; he was doing so well ignoring his feelings today, too.

"Kindly get your large, gelatinous body off of me, you oaf, before you crush my ribcage."

America pouted. "I am not gelatinous."

England raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what gelatinous means?"

"…It's like a tropical fish, right?"

"Just get the fuck off!" With a hard, albeit halfhearted shove, England managed to free himself from under America, which to be completely honest, wasn't something he ever imagined himself being happy to do.

The younger nation was whimpering, and had taken to wrapping himself around a large pillow in pursuit of security. England rolled his eyes, while the sight was actually a little enduring, it was more then a little pathetic, and he would be damned if he had to deal with that all night.

"Oh belt up, it's just a room."

_Whimper. _

"Honestly America, it's no different then any other room in this house."

_Whimper. _

"For the love of- Lincoln is your old boss, I'm sure he would be perfectly kind if he saw you again."

_LOUD whimper._

Okay, this was getting fucking ridiculous.

"Well, what do you want _me_ to do? This is _your_ house, you git!"

Blue eyes peeked up from behind the pillow. "Sleep with me?"

"…I beg your pardon?"

America unraveled himself from the pillow, and England felt his heart flutter at the tiny streak of red across his nose. "Not like, the _good_ kind. Gross." England rolled his eyes. "The keep-me-safe kind. Like when I was little."

Oh, curse that boy and his powers of nostalgia.

"I must be completely mental."

With a (totally manly) squeal of excitement, America dove under the covers, leaving just enough room for England to squeeze himself in as well. England regarded the space apprehensively; there was no way he would be able to keep himself from touching America _somewhere_. Touching, rubbing... feather light caressing across his skin…

Oh bugger, it was going to be a long night.

* * *

**SURPRISE! J/k about that whole this-is-the-last-chapter thing. It started to get too long, and I was getting really anxious and annoyed by how long it was taking to get things _really_ going, so I cut it off here and decided to give you all one more chapter! **

**All that stuff about Lincoln is true by the way. I found it out when I was making sure it was his bedroom that was the famously haunted one. I feel he and England would have gotten along quite well!**

**Soooo I just discovered the forum option on here...might make one. Keep checking up on that. Anyway! Till next time! The REAL end! Haha!**


	10. The End

America was most definitely _not_ freaking out.

Definitely, _definitely_ not freaking out.

And hell, even if he _was_ freaking out (he wasn't), it definitely, _definitely_ wasn't because he was trapped in Lincoln's bedroom and it was midnight and England had fallen asleep about an hour ago and left him wide awake and he was all alone and _oh my god, _what was that _noise?_

Deep breath…not freaking out…Hero. He was a hero.

Heroes didn't get scared of little bumps in the night, dammit.

America bit his lip and tried to focus on keeping his eyes closed. If his eyes were closed, he wouldn't be able to see anything scary, and everyone knows that if you didn't see something, it wasn't there.

Perfect!

_Thump._

Blue eyes flew open. There was no way he imagined that. No _fucking_ way he imagined that.

"England," he hissed in a whisper, shaking the older nation lightly. "Englaaand."

_Thump._

"_ENGLAND!_" Still trying to keep his voice at a loud whisper, America violently shook England into consciousness, burying himself deep into the covers. There was _no way_ he was going to face whatever was out there alone, he would rather deal with a cranky England any day.

"What _is_ it, you git?" England snapped, pushing America's arms away. America shrunk back even farther into the covers, smiling sheepishly at the older nation's glare.

"I heard a thump."

"Bloody hell."

"I did!" America insisted, peaking out from his cocoon and scanning the room suspiciously. "There was this thump and-"

_Thump._

He flew out from under the covers and latched on to his pillow. "See! There it was again!"

"It was nothing. Go back to bed," England snapped, pulling the covers over his head and facing his back to the frightened nation. America gaped at the back of his head.

"E-England! No! Don't go back to sleep! Please? England…?" When he received no response to his pleading, America gulped, whimpering quietly and pulling the blankets to his chin with white knuckles.

Well fuck. Now what was he supposed to do?

He pursed his lips and nervously allowed his eyes to scan the surrounding area. Okay, he totally had this down; all he had to do was 1. Assess the situation, 2. Form an appropriate course of action, and 3. Attack given adversaries, be they animal, mineral or paranormal, and fight until victorious.

Right. Ready…go!

_Thump. _

"_Alfred."_

…Okay.

Fuck. That.

"England, _so help me god_, if you don't wake up this second-!" America cried, leaping atop the older nation and shaking him rather violently until his eyes finally popped open.

"Ugh! What _is_ it, you sodding- Oi! Get the fuck off of me!"

America clung to the older man, who let out an 'oof' in response. "Something just said my name, England! I dunno what it was, but it said my name! _WHY DID IT SAY MY NAME_?"

England wiggled his way out from under America, his cheeks puffing up in annoyance. "It was just your imagination you twat! Bloody hell, if this is how you're going to act at every insignificant little soun-"

"_Arthur."_

"_What?"_ England snapped.

America shook his head as his eyes widened and the color drained from his face. "T-that wasn't m-me…" he squeaked.

England raised an eyebrow in response. "What do you mean 'that wasn't you'? Who was it then?"

Another squeak. "I don't know."

For the briefest moment, a flash of fear streaked across the older nation's face, but as soon as it was there, it was replaced with a determined, stern upper lip. "This is complete hogwash," he huffed. "I'm going to prove to you that there is absolutely nothing going on in this room but an overweight, panicky American keeping me from getting a good nights rest."

"I am not overweight." America pouted before latching himself onto England's arm desperately. "Don't do it, England! It'll get you! I don't want to be alone!"

"Nothing is going to get me!" England grumbled, shaking the younger nation off his arm and stomping to closet in the corner of the room, ignoring the idiot's complete lack of concern for his wellbeing. America whined in protest from the bed as England gripped the doorknob, and rolling his eyes, he ripped the door open and gestured inside. "Look, shoe racks! How terribly frightening!"

"Just because it's not in the closet doesn't mean it's not somewhere else."

"Where _else_ would it be?"

"Hell if I know! It's a _ghost_! It can be anywhere it wants to be!"

England rubbed his temples, taking a deep breath to calm his anger. Thank the Queen that wanker was cute; he would not have made it this long otherwise.

"Listen you git, I am not going to tell you again. There is absolutely nothing in this room!"

"_Get out."_

The large crystal chandelier decorating the room shook above England's head, quickly gaining the nation's attention. With wide eyes, he managed to dodge out of the way just as the fixture came crashing to the floor beside him, yelling out in surprise and pain as a large crystal shattered, cutting into the palm of his hand.

"England!" America gasped, leaping from the bed and rushing to the other nation's aid. England stayed motionless on the floor, holding his injured hand in the other as America lifted him up and guided him back to the bed. "Jesus Christ, old man. Are you okay?"

"What the _fuck _just happened?" He gasped, cringing as America pulled his hand away to inspect his wound.

America bit his lip. "I told you, dude. I told you something was after us." He winced, ignoring England's protests and scolds to be gentle as he wiped away the fresh blood with the bottom of his shirt. "It doesn't look too deep, I don't think you'll need stitches or anything, but I should bandage it up."

As England opened his mouth to remind America that he had, in fact, been around far longer then he, and as such, could very well figure out he didn't need stitches on his own, when America began taking off his shirt.

Oh merciful heavens, he was taking off his shirt.

"_What are you doing?"_ England cried, turning away as his face began to flush.

America blinked. "Taking off my shirt?" He replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I can bloody see that, you git! Why are you doing it?"

"Well I can't let you get blood all over Lincoln's room, can I? It's a huge tourist stop. Besides, I already used my shirt to clean you up, so…" he shrugged, ripping off a sizeable piece of the cotton material and wrapping it cautiously around England's palm, tossing the rest if the shirt aside.

England gulped, his eyes following America's surprisingly careful, precise actions as he kneeled on the floor in front of him. The younger nation's eyebrows were slightly furrowed, and his tongue peaked out from the side of his lips in complete concentration. England forced his eyes away from this altogether satisfying sight, letting them wonder leisurely down his neck and shoulders to his bare abdomen.

Though it was probably just the blood loss speaking, for a brief moment England seriously considered thanking their paranormal roommate for such a delightful spectacle.

"There. How's that feel, England? …England? _England_!"

"_What?"_

"And welcome back." America raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You spaced off for a second there. Don't tell me the ghost possessed you or something," America asked nervously, backing away a few inches. England rolled his eyes.

"Nothing possessed me, you twat! I was just…" He trailed off; looking away from America as he felt the blush creep it's way back onto his cheeks.

America crossed his arms. "Why are you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing!"

"Yeah you are." Placing his hand roughly on the top of England's head, America forced the older nation to look at him. "Dude, seriously, what is it?"

England flushed even darker. Fidgeting with his bandage, he tried to squirm his way from America's grasp, which, much to both his pleasure and horror, resulted in America wrapping his arms around him to keep him still.

"England, what the fuck!" He grunted, and with an exasperated sigh, held him out at arms length and studied him over. England cursed inwardly; figures the idiot would choose this moment to suddenly become observant.

"Release me this moment, you twat! And for the love of God, put on a bloody shirt!"

"_What is it_ with youand this shirt obsession, lately?" America groaned. "Seriously, every time I take the damn thing off, you get all awkward and blushy and-"

…Oh.

America's face split into a large, shit-eating grin. "Oh my god, you were checking me out."

England gasped. "I was d-doing no such thing, you prat!"

"No," America squealed, poking England's cheek, "you're blushing! You were totally checking me out!" With a smirk, America turned his back to England, peaking over his shoulder behind him with half-lidded eyes, his index finger resting on his lower lip seductively. "Like what you see?"

England flushed. "T-this is completely idiotic! I was in no way-"

America had none of it of course, far to busy trying to keep himself from falling to the ground in laughter. "I can't believe it! Prussia was right! You _do_ want in my pants!"

"_I beg your pardon_?" England shrieked.

"You want in my pants! You think I'm seeexy," America sang, dancing around a little for England's benefit, "you want to kiiiss me, you want to hooold me!"

England was positively glowing with embarrassment and rage to the point where smoke could almost be seen coming from his ears. With a growl, he stepped dangerously closer to the American, who stopped his antics to regard him in amusement, the smile never leaving his face.

"You know, it totally all makes sense now. You were always telling me how cute I was as a kid. Guess I grew up nicely, eh old man?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Of course you were cute as a child! All children are cute!" England exclaimed, flushing.

America held up a finger in argument. "That's not necessarily true. I've seen some ugly kids."

England scoffed. "Rubbish. Everyone was already grown by the time we found you."

"Doesn't mean I've never seen a kid before. I've seen some seriously unfortunate looking ones."

Green eyes rolled as England crossed his arms. "Name one."

"Canada."

"…Who?"

"You know, Canada. Mattie. We were just at his house." He paused and watched the recognition creep onto England's face. "He was one _ugly-ass_ kid."

"Oh, he was not."

"Yeah he was! Don't you remember?" America asked. "His head was all goofy lookin'. All lumpy and shit."

England could only gape. "What are you fucking talking about? Canada was a perfectly lovely child! …And stop changing the subject!"

America beamed, running a finger down the front of England's shirt. "Oh, you mean the subject of how you want in my pants?"

"I don't want in your bloody pants!" He snapped, slapping the laughing nation's hand away. "I was talking about the light fixture that almost decapitated me, idiot!"

America's expression suddenly became serious. England exhaled in relief. "That's right, the ghost."

"We don't even know it was a ghost," England said with a sigh. "Perhaps it was simply faulty installation."

"_Why if it isn't Alfred and Arthur. Sure made a mess of things, didn't you?"_

"Oh and I guess _that_ was the faulty installation too, huh?" America glared at England who had now turned a particularly ugly shade of olive green.

Clearing his throat and trying his hardest to sound even a little intimidating, England clenched his fists and called into the dark room. "W-who's there? I demand you show yourself!"

A small chuckle alerted both England and America, who had taken to hiding behind a pillow to England's left, to a (surprisingly solid) white figure making it's way out of the shadows near the wardrobe on the opposite end of the room. Instinctively, England took a step in front of America, who whimpered quietly as the figure moved closer.

"_Don't tell me you boys don't remember me?" _It asked, amusement evident in it's vibrant red eyes.

"Abe…?" America whimpered, clutching his pillow to his chest. England turned around in surprise at hearing his voice before spinning back to the figure as it chuckled again, fully emerging from the shadows.

"_Hello, Alfred. It's been a while, hasn't it?"_

America narrowed his eyes. "You look different."

"_Well no shit- I mean, of course I have! I'm dead, silly!" _Lincoln laughed heartily, waving off the comment and gesturing for the nations to take a seat at the end of the bed. "_Now, what is this I've heard of a 'prank war' between the two of you at this years G8 summit?_"

"Hold on a tick," England replied skeptically. "How the hell would _you_ know anything about that?"

"_I hear things_," Lincoln replied simply, pulling up a chair and settling it in front of America and England.

America cleared his throat, still obviously weary to be talking to the ghost of his former boss. "W-well, It started when England renamed The Sears Tower after one of his stupid companies."

England huffed. "No, I believe it started when _America_ defaced Big Ben by drawing a penis all over it."

America grinned. "That was fucking hilarious, actually."

"It was vile and immature!"

"And canceling Harry Potter _wasn't_?"

"_Enough!_" Lincoln roared, taking America and England back. America whimpered and hid behind his pillow once again. "My god! _You two have even more problems than I thought._" Rubbing his temples, Lincoln stood up and started walking back to the closet. "_Stay here and sort out all your fucking sexual tension. That's right, don't look at me like that, I've been dead for 145 years and even I can see it. And if you even think about not being completely truthful to each other, you'll be sorry…they don't call me Honest Abe for nothing." _

With a rather intimidating cut-of-the-throat motion, Lincoln was gone and the two nations were left alone once again. With a noise that bordered somewhere between amused, confused, and scared shitless, America cautiously lowered his pillow, refusing to take his eyes off the now empty corner of the room.

"Well," he mumbled, "Lincoln seems a little more intense than I remember."

"Just a bit," England agreed.

They continued to sit in an awkward, uncomfortable silence; America absentmindedly tinkering with the end of his pillowcase, England fiddling his thumbs and admiring the crown molding gracing the walls, and let the ex-president's words marinate in their thoughts.

"Listen, America-"

"Hey England-"

They blushed, laughing nervously. With a small smile, America gestured England to continue. "S-sorry, what were you saying? You go ahead."

"Oh, um, right." England cleared his throat. "W-what I was going to say was…would you _stop_ looking at me like that?"

America blinked. "Like what?"

England huffed. "Just…like that! Stop looking at me!"

America scrunched his face in confusion. "Where am I _supposed_ to look?"

"Anywhere! I don't bloody care! Just not at me!" America made a bewildered murmur, but England could see out of the corner of his eye that the younger nation's gaze had settled else ware. He sighed in relief; the action probably wouldn't make this any easier, but like hell he was going to chance it.

"Fine. I'm not looking at you, you may now continue." Although England could practically hear the eye roll in America's comment, he figured he might as well continue.

"Right, brilliant." He took a deep breath. "I just wanted to tell you… This past week…hasn't been a _complete_ nightmare. Don't get me wrong it was still total rubbish! But I suppose…it could have been…_worse_."

America grinned. "Aww, old man, is this your way of saying Prussia was right about my pants?"

England scoffed angrily, crossing his arms and turning his head away, blushing wildly. "Well! I'm trying to be civil, but if you insist on acting like an idiot, then-"

"England!" America laughed. "I was just kidding!" He smiled warmly, before biting his lip and flushing lightly. "Honestly…I kinda…agree with you."

"What?" England asked.

America shrugged self-consciously. "Yeah, I mean…you know. I do really like hanging out with you and stuff…and it is pretty awesome getting you all pissy."

"I do _not_ get _pissy_."

"Sure you do!" America laughed. "You just can't tell because your eyebrows still haven't grown back."

England chuckled, giving the younger nation a friendly punch in the shoulder. "At least my skin is it's natural colour, you git."

"Hey! The purple is totally almost gone! You can only tell in bright sunlight now!"

The nations laughed quietly, finding the comfortable atmosphere refreshing and relaxing until England noted the time and ordered them to turn in for the night. In a pleasant silence, they got themselves tucked back into bed once England agreed to take the side closest to the closet, just in case Lincoln decided to stop by once again.

England yawned, pulling the comforter up to his chin and closing his eyes as America placed his glasses on the bedside table. As he slipped under the blankets, America chuckled to himself.

"You know," he said with an amused smile and a barely visible blush on his cheeks. "Prussia is such a crazy-ass guy. I mean us wanting to…_hook up_? Oh man, that's a laugh!"

England laughed bitterly, giving his pillow a hearty punch. "He's a total nutter. I mean," he sneered, "what would give that tosser an idea like that?"

America shook his head. "No clue, dude. I mean, sure, we are, like, really great friends and all, but that's no reason to think something like _that_."

"My thoughts exactly," England agreed, subconsciously scooting closer to America under the covers. "Of course, there is all that rubbish about our 'special relationship', which certainly doesn't help matters."

"Oh god, the whole special relationship thing!" America moaned, rolling over to face England. "What? Just because we promised to always be there for each other and support each other no matter what? Give me a break."

England chuckled softly. "He probably thinks I want you because I worry about you when you do stupid, idiotic things," he bit his lip, uncertain green eyes locking tenderly with blue, "even though you succeeded from me all those years ago…"

"…Or because I only do those stupid, idiotic things to get your attention…" America smiled apologetically.

"Or because I sometimes find myself gazing at you from across the conference table…" England whispered, moving closer.

"…And sometimes I think your accent is really, really sexy…" America whispered back.

Their faces were barley an inch from each other when England felt his eyelids begin to fall. "Or because I've honestly wanted in your pants for fucking decades."

"So maybe Prussia isn't completely insane, after all?" America grinned suggestively.

"Oh no, he's still completely barmy." England smirked, yanking the covers over their heads. "He just got lucky this time around."

* * *

Prussia grinned, squeezing out from the trap door behind the closet and stepping into hallway, carefully removing his top hat and fake beard. With a confident thumbs up, he handed the costume to the two men awaiting him and crossed his arms, preparing for his praise.

"Well?" The Prime Minister asked eagerly. "Did it work?"

"Pshaw, of course it worked! The awesome me makes anything I put my mind to nothing short of an absolute triumph!"

The President and Prime Minister sighed in relief.

"Oh thank god." The President smiled. "So you got them to make up?"

Prussia grinned. "More like _make out_." The Bosses grimaced.

"Bloody hell…"

"Definitely not part of the plan, Prussia."

Prussia simply laughed, slapping them men heartily on back. "My pleasure, gentlemen! Now, I believe we had an agreement. I scare the shit out of Wonderboy and Iggy, and you two provide me with my demands? Hurry it up! I have a plane back to Canada to catch. Tomorrow is sap tapping day, and I'll be damned if I miss that shit."

Rolling his eyes, the president handed the nation a Disney World season pass.

Prussia ripped the plastic card from his hands and strode from the hallway, laughing to himself. "Kesesese~! I can't wait to ride the Dumbo ride!"

Exchanging worn out glances, the Prime Minister and the President wrapped their arms around each other's shoulders and wearily walked together to their respective bedrooms.

"You think they'll think twice about pulling pranks on each other again?" the President asked hopefully.

The Prime Minister chuckled. "I doubt it, especially with Prussia's _alteration_ of our plan. If anything they're probably encouraged."

"As long as they're not bothering_ me_, I couldn't care less _what_ is going on in that room." The President shook his head before smirking at the other man.

"So," he asked, "think we should tell them the door was unlocked the whole time?"

* * *

**And she is DONE! Silly Prussia, you were only supposed to scare them into getting along again... not... that... Though none of us mind. XD**

**WELL everyone, I hope you all enjoyed readying this little adventure as much as I enjoyed writing it! May I just say that I have the AWESOMEEST readers EVER? Cause I totally do! You all have been nothing short of supportive and encouraging and every review you all gave me brightened up my day! **

**A massive thank you to everyone who showed interest in making fanart for this story! The amazing OrangePlum has even already done some! Everyone get your butts over to _http: / gin-inu. deviantart. com/_ (minus the spaces of course) And check out the TftP pics as well as all her other work, cause she is AMAZING! **

**Again, thank you all for being awesome, and I'll see you next time hopefully! Have a great day!**


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